


High Warlock of Queens

by Arcane_Light



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcane_Light/pseuds/Arcane_Light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The insertion of an additional warlock into the world of The Mortal Instruments. The Shadowhunters meet a longtime friend of Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> I always appreciate comments! Even the smallest comment. Good, bad, compliment, critique. Let me know what you think.

Clary jumped, nearly spilling the boiling hot coffee, as the obnoxious buzz of Magnus’s doorbell echoed through the apartment. Magnus appeared undisturbed as he sat on the plush velour couch, eyes shut with his head rested against the crushed velvet fabric. 

“Uh…” Jace cocked an eyebrow at the warlock, who had set to swirling his cup of coffee with his hand. “You going to get that?”

“Unlikely,” Magnus replied with a sigh, eyes still closed, “when I’ve got five perfectly functioning pairs of legs to do it for me.” Jace let out a disgruntled scoff, but it was Isabelle who rolled her eyes and shot Magnus a disapproving glare. Clary set her mug on the coffee table with a loud clatter.

“Fine!” she huffed, rising to her feet. “I’ll get it.” She wasn’t halfway to the front door of Magnus’s apartment when Jace appeared beside her. She gave him a suspicious look.

“What?” he replied. “We don’t know who could be knocking.” 

Clary ignored him and set to tumbling down the long flight of stairs, the steps squeaking beneath her every step even without the help of her ancient sneakers. The building’s front door shown like a beacon at the end of the stairwell, the floodlight outside shining in despite the black paint slapped haphazardly across the glass. When they arrived at the landing with a resounding thud, Clary brushed her hands on her jeans and reached for the tarnished doorknob. A slender hand snatched it back.

“What’s wrong now?” Clary demanded, glaring at Jace through the shadows. 

“Like I said,” he replied, the distinctive gleam of a seraph blade near his sleeve, “anyone could be knocking.” He finally turned the nob and the landing was flooded with blinding white light. 

At first, Clary’s eyes burned from the assault, the bright light stinging in comparison to Magnus’s habitually dim apartment. Eventually, her eyes adjusted and she was able to make out the silhouette of a figure standing on the front steps. As each moment passed, more was revealed: a long, slender neck; dark locks of hair; a thick wool coat. It was a girl, though Clary had difficulty calling her that. If the smooth lines of her face and the sharpness of her eyes weren’t enough, she gave off an air of experience, of knowledge beyond comparison. As the brightness of the floodlight dimmed, Clary was able to see her more clearly. 

Her hair was tied effortlessly into a disheveled bun at the nape of her neck and two black, metal bars hung from her ears. Beneath her grey wool coat with its collar upturned was a silky smooth scarf and unblemished jeans, all tucked into short black boots. She wore a loose grey t-shirt, the kind that hung fashionably off one shoulder to reveal soft skin, which declared in splattered black print _I have nothing to wear_. 

Dark eyes darted between them, examining, studying. “Hello there, darling,” her voice was low like syrup as her eyes landed on Jace.

“And who are you, exactly?” Jace seemed unaffected by her inspection, his seraph blade still gripped loosely in hand. The girl’s eyes darted to Clary and held.

“Emmeline Stark,” she responded with a smile, white teeth flashing like pearls in the darkness. “High Warlock of Queens. At your service.” 

~*~

“High _warlock_?” Jace’s face pinched in confusion as Emmeline smiled across the threshold. By now Clary also noticed the girl was barefaced and, too, found herself confused, particularly when recalling that the only other warlock she knew had an unhealthy obsession for metallic eyeliner. 

“You are correct,” Emmeline tilted her head, exposing her bare neck to the brisk night air. There was a tattoo there, something of a mixture between a scar and shimmery ink. Perhaps she was a warlock. Clary heard the thud of footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to see Alec jumping down the last few steps. “Ah!” Emmeline gave a relieved sigh, “Alec, dear. Won’t you please tell them to let me in? I don’t fancy being a squatter.” There was a slight twinge of confusion on Jace’s face as Alec flashed a quick smile at the warlock in the doorway.

“Hey, Em,” he muttered, giving a slight wave in her direction. “It’s alright, Jace,” he assured them. “She’s a friend.” 

“Are you friends with every warlock in New York,” Jace retorted, “or just the ones on the island?” Alec scowled at him, but motioned for Emmeline to pass through the door. She did so with a sigh of gratitude, slipping with ease between Clary and Jace and giving Alec a quick peck on the cheek before dashing up the stairs. This did not elude Jace’s notice. “Really?” he sneered at Alec. 

“Come on,” he muttered and raced up the stairs. They arrived at Magnus’s apartment door in time to witness the two warlocks’ reunion. Upon seeing her, Magnus burst into a wide smile, his glittering eyes shimmering in the dim light from the chandelier. 

“Hey there, sexy,” Emmeline leaned to the side, tilting her body into the type of pose that seemed more appropriate for a music video than the elegant girl before them. Magnus didn’t seem to mind as he extended his arms out on the couch and bowed his head.

“Guilty as charged,” he smirked, his gold beaded bracelets jangling on his wrists. 

“You going to just sit there on that glorious ass,” Emmeline sneered at him, “or are you going to give me a proper hug?” Magnus made a face at her before hoisting himself from the couch, placing his coffee on the side table and flourishing his housecoat with a flick of his wrists. In one fell swoop, he’d swept Emmeline into his arms and lifted her into the air. She only laughed and allowed herself to be swung before Magnus set her to her feet and helped in brushing her shirt smooth. 

“That was weird,” Simon professed, his eyes wide with confusion behind his black framed glasses as he and Isabelle watched the two warlocks from the green couch. Clary went to join them, snatching her coffee from the table and smiling to find that it was still warm. She wrapped her fingers around the ceramic and allowed the heat to flush away the dampness of the stairwell. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Magnus turned to them, “May I introduce the fantastic, the radiant, the incomparable Emmeline Stark, High Warlock of Queens.” At this, Emmeline flashed a charming smirk and, with a swirl of her fingers, conjured a steaming cup of coffee for herself. The loft echoed in silence. 

“Tough crowd,” Emmeline muttered to Magnus before taking a sip of her coffee. He chuckled and offered her a seat next to him. “It’s been way too long, dear,” she flopped into the plush pillows. 

“Too long? You saw me just last week,” Magnus corrected her. “Remember? The party at that fae’s house, what’s her face…”

“Serena,” Emmeline stated with a point of her finger, which Clary saw were painted nude. A far cry from Magnus’s glittering red polish. 

“That’s right,” he said. “The tease with the blue hair.”

“That’s the one.”

“Hold up!” Isabelle’s voice broke through the mindless chatter and all eyes snapped to her. “Not that this isn’t fascinating – and, believe me, I’m always one for fairy gossip – but would you mind explaining?”

Magnus’s dark brow arched, “Explaining?”

“Who she is,” Isabelle elaborated. “And how you,” she pointed a finger at Alec, whose eyes swelled, “even know a warlock besides Magnus!” Her brother seemed caught off guard, unprepared to face an inquisition from his sister, but Magnus stepped in, placing a gentle hand on Alec’s thigh. 

“There’s no need to interrogate your brother, Isabelle,” Emmeline said, taking a sip from her coffee. “The only reason he knows me is because I know Magnus. And Magnus knows everyone.”

“It’s true,” the warlock admitted, slipping a silk draped arm around Alec’s shoulders. 

“How did you know my name?” Isabelle demanded, her silvery-gold whip sparkling around her wrist. 

“Like I said,” Emmeline repeated, “I know Alec. Even if he hadn’t mentioned his sister, the family resemblance is undeniable. You Lightwoods always were a gorgeous bunch.” Magnus flashed a tiny smile before lifting his coffee for a sip, his fingers playing with the neck of Alec’s shirt. “And besides,” Emmeline continued, “I know who all of you are, and quite a bit more than that.” Clary’s fingers tightened around her mug.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon inquired, shuffling in his seat on the couch. “Are you some kind of mind reader?” Clary could hear the sarcasm in his voice, the way it hitched in singsong whenever he thought he was being funny, but he choked on his coffee at Emmeline’s response.

“More or less.” 

She appeared completely serious, her dark eyes reminding Clary too much of a raptor with their intensity, like those of an eagle or falcon. After Simon recovered from his gagging fit, he set aside his coffee. A smart move. 

“You’re serious?” Jace asked, brow cocked in disbelief. Emmeline shot Magnus a comical glance.

“I thought you said they were clever,” she said and Magnus smirked. 

“I still haven’t gotten my answer,” Isabelle insisted and Emmeline seemed to snap to attention.

“Ah, yes,” she focused in. “That. Well, bit of a long story, isn’t it, dear?” Magnus shrugged and nestled further into the couch, further into Alec. “I suppose it’s worth telling. Right then, where to start. The beginning, I suppose.

 

I was born in Kassel, in what would become Germany, in 1567. When I was born, my parents were told that I would not survive the week, let alone the night, for I was covered in silver marks. It appeared as though a sickness had taken me, poisoned my veins, for the unnatural color followed the lines of my blood. Still my mother coddled me, cradled me, would not let me from her sight. When morning came, I was still alive. And the next. And the week after, until there were none who would say that I would not live, save the holy man who had first set eyes on me. Convinced I was a spawn of Hell, he attempted to take me from my parents, waiting until the night when my father was away to break into our home. My mother tried to defend me, but the holy man removed her from his path. 

I remember watching her fall, seeing her head smash into the fireplace, watching the blood pool beneath her. He didn’t even care. Maybe he did. I couldn’t tell. All I could see was the look in his eyes when he saw me, saw the lines on my skin, and the blade he held in his hand. It was such an angry looking thing, all ragged teeth and brutal edges. I remember being so sad, and so angry. The next thing I knew, he, too, was on the ground lying next to my mother, but his blood came to cover the floor like a rug. I started to run.

First, I came to Hainich and hid in a barn. The animals were kind to me. They let me sleep with them, but the farmer was not kind. He swung at me with a sickle and the blade cut me clean down my side. I thought I was going to die. I was wrong. The lines on my skin started to expand, growing until my limbs were coated in shimmering silver gleam. When the glimmer receded, my wounds were gone. 

I grew bolder. I went to Nuremburg and stayed there for five years before I was driven out. I didn’t want to leave my home, but I had no choice. I fled to the mountains of Hapsburg and survived off wild goat and wheat. I lived that way for near a century, going down to the villages for supplies and news, but I could never go to the same village. Not for long. I did not age as they did and people noticed. After another four decades, I fled once more, further than I had ever gone. I went to the Ottoman Empire, to Istanbul. 

It was there that I learned of the other warlocks. I had known of demons, of fairies and vampires, even werewolves. I had encountered them all at some point along my journey and made an effort to learn all I could. There was a lady in Istanbul, a mortal witch, who taught me more. She told me of the warlocks, told me exactly what I was, and I gobbled up what information I could. I went back to her home every week, pleading for more information, more books, more stories. She told me all she knew, shared everything she had. 

It was my twelfth year in Istanbul when I came to her door and found it hanging ajar. Inside I heard voices, hers, but more than that, and they were angry. I watched as two men held her at knife point, one with twisted horns sprouting from his forehead and another with two sets of eyes. I was too slow. They slit her throat as I screamed out. It was foolish of me. In a moment I was fleeing into the markets, flying between booths and vendors as the men pursued me. I should have fought back, but I was too frightened. I didn’t know what to do and soon I was cornered, high stone walls looming in on every side and the two men growing near. The lines on my skin tingled and burned as the cuts and scrapes from the market were soothed away, but no amount of strange healing magic would bring me back from a severed windpipe. 

Magnus found me. I watched in wonder as the two men fell motionless at his feet. No blood, no blades, no effort at all. Simply a raised hand and a flexed finger, and the two men were no more. I remember thinking he must have been some kind of god. His eyes shone like topaz and he was draped in luxurious red fabric trimmed in gold and turquoise, gold bangles wrapped about his wrists. They sang as he offered me his hand and raised me to my feet. 

He explained that the two men were lesser warlocks, creatures whose magic was minimal and weak. More frightening still was the reason for their actions. They were twisted creatures who believed that consuming the power of greater warlocks would increase their own. The lady hadn’t been a warlock. They’d used her to find me, tortured her for information. At that moment, I wretched on the dirt. Magnus handed me a fine, silk handkerchief and offered me his arm. He’s been guiding me ever since.”

 

Clary’s coffee sat cold in her hands, the blue ceramic icy to the touch. Kassel, 1567. Her mind wrestled with the idea as she stared at the lovely young lady before her. Emmeline was over four hundred years old, yet she didn’t look a day over twenty. The silver lines on her skin flashed in the low light of the loft, metallic sparks jumping with each heartbeat, and they reached up her neck and into her hair. A sweet tingle rang through the air as Magnus reached for his coffee, gold bangles jangling around his slender wrists. Istanbul. How could two people, such sweet and charming people, have suffered so much?

“And how is it you know Alec?” Jace was the first to break the silence. Emmeline looked up at him, but not with rage or disgust. Her eyes shown soft and calm as if she understood. 

“Magnus,” she replied. “He’s a brother to me. I was eager to meet the young man who had so enraptured him.” This seemed to please everyone enough. Isabelle, satisfied with her answers, reclined into her seat and set to sipping her coffee, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and onto Simon’s. Jace returned to cleaning his nails with his stele. “As for the rest of you,” Emmeline continued, “I learned long ago that my gifts allotted me a certain amount of insight. The human soul emits a kind of light, a signature. I can see it and, as such, I can see you. Who you are, what you are, and what you are to each other.” This garnered their collective attention and Clary become suddenly self-conscious.

“You, for example.” Simon’s coffee fumbled in his hands as Emmeline’s avian gaze turned on him, chocolate and gold. For a good half minute, she studied him. Simon grew nervous, Clary could tell. His fingers tapped obsessively on his legs as his eyes darted between Isabelle and Clary. She gave him what supportive glance she could. “Vampire,” Emmeline declared and Simon laughed awkwardly.

“Hate to break it to you,” he said, “but everyone seems to be able to spot that.” Jace and Isabelle snickered, but Alec didn’t seem to share their amusement. His smirk seemed far more knowing. 

“You’re right, Simon,” Emmeline continued, drawing attention with the use of his name. “Vampire's easy to spot. It's red, red like blood. But there’s more to you," she leaned forward on her knees. “Something mixed in there. It’s bright, warm. More golden red, like sunlight. Hmm," she studied him a moment longer before a small smile tugged at her lips. "I don't doubt there's a bit of soul in there. The human soul is a potent and fierce thing.” At this Simon’s face flushed white, as did Isabelle’s and Jace’s and, she didn't doubt, her own. Clary had never seen such an expression on Jace’s face, the pure surprise. He was impressed; they all were. 

“You though,” Emmeline turned her gaze to Isabelle, who flipped her dark hair back as if to better display herself. “Isabelle. Shadowhunter, obviously. The Marks are something of a giveaway, but Shadowhunter is easy to spot, too.” She flicked her eyes toward Jace, who stood leaning against the couch. “Golden bright light, not ivory, but gilded. That’s the Angel’s influence, I’m sure, and it centers on your heads like a halo. Quite the humorist, your Angel.” Jace seemed intrigued by this and cracked a satisfied smile, spinning his stele in hand. “There’s variation, of course,” Emmeline explained, “but the overall effect is universal.” She placed her coffee on the table. It was empty, but suddenly began to refill before her eyes and Clary held back a gasp. 

“So, let’s see,” Emmeline reclined into the couch. “That’s one mixed vampire, four Shadowhunters, two warlocks.”

“How do you know the warlocks?” Simon inquired, his curiosity shining through. Clary smiled. “What do theirs look like?” Emmeline smiled. 

“They have the greatest variation,” she explained. “I peg it to the level of power. It develops as the magic does. Take Magnus, for example.” The warlock’s eyes flicked open, cat-like slits gleaming in the darkness. “His is violet, shades of burgundy and plum. Very regal.” Magnus smiled at her and placed an endearing kiss on her cheek. 

“And yours?” Simon asked. Emmeline fell silent and Clary worried that Simon had struck a chord, but the warlock soon resumed her pleasant expression.

“It’s hard to see your own,” she smiled at Simon. “Especially at first. Honestly, I didn’t want to see mine. I was worried it would look as terrible as I felt. It took a long time for me to accept what I was.” At this, Simon lowered his gaze and fiddled with the handle of his mug. 

“Can you see it now?” Clary’s voice sounded foreign as Emmeline’s eyes landed on her. The warlock thought for a moment and raised her hand, examining it in the light of the chandelier. The lines on her skin flashed in the light, every so often beating with the pump of her heart. 

“Silver and green.” 

They all sat in silence for a while, sipping at their coffee and absentmindedly examining their own skin, perhaps thinking they could catch a glimpse of what Emmeline saw. 

“You said you could see who we are,” Jace’s voice was hesitant. “Who we are to each other. How so?” Emmeline smiled once more, her eyes flashing up to the ceiling as if following invisible lines. Her eyes landed on Clary. 

“Connections,” she said. “Like ribbons of light. They run through the air, tie you all together. You have to focus to see them, though.” Her eyes flicked between Clary and Jace, a faint smirk on her lips. “For example, there’s you two,” she motioned to Isabelle and Alec. “Siblings. It’s a very clear connection, but it doesn’t end with blood. There’s a similar connection between you two,” she turned her gaze to Alec and Jace. “Brothers, but in a different way. Same with you and Jace,” she told Isabelle. 

“As for Simon,” Emmeline took a sip from her coffee, “there’s a clear connection between you and Clary. Another sibling tie. Very similar, but the one between you and her,” she nodded at Isabelle, “ _clearly_ different.” Isabelle’s face flushed almost as much as Simon’s, but she laced her fingers through his regardless. “Love is easy to spot. Especially when you have such prime examples,” Emmeline made a point of drawing her gaze to Magnus and Alec, who sat lounging against each other on the couch. Alec’s cheeks were tinged red, all the while Magnus played with the hem of his black shirt looking thoroughly pleased.


	2. Night In

Alec lugged himself up the steps of Magnus’s industrial loft building, his black boots scuffing along each cement step until he stopped at the front door. The sun was already beginning to set in the west, golden light blaring from behind the skyscrapers in the distance. Along his left side was the faded-over tenant listing, the glass scratched and clouded from years of weather and wear. The one remaining name barely showed through: _Magnus Bane_. Alec didn’t press the buzzer. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a single metal key, sliding it into the lock of the front door and turning it with a solid _click_. The door swung open and he slipped inside, met by the familiar scent of mud and dust, trimmed with alcohol and coffee grounds. 

Every step up the long flight of stairs echoed into the building, his thick boots slamming into the wooden slats. It was well past noon. He needn’t worry about being quiet. Magnus should have already drug his ass out of bed by now, and if he hadn’t Alec would be more than happy to dump a pitcher of water on his head. He’d bitch and set to cleaning the makeup from his smeared eyes for the next hour. Alec laughed at the thought as he reached the landing outside Magnus’s apartment. He pulled out the second key and slid it into the lock, closing the door behind him. Immediately, he felt unnerved.

Magnus’s apartment was far cleaner than normal. The dishes were stacked next to the sink, freshly washed. There was a basket of laundry on the ottoman, washed and folded. Even the floor looked like someone had swept and mopped recently. Not Magnus’s doing. Definitely not. Magnus hardly ever cleaned, let alone fluffed the pillows on the couch. He was moments from making his way down the hall to Magnus’s bedroom when a muffled groan reverberated from the center of the living room floor. Alec’s eyes snapped toward the noise and he nearly choked on his own breath when he saw what was there.

The television was barely audible, a _What Not to Wear_ rerun flashing across the tiny screen. An air mattress had been blown up and tossed into the center of the living room, the squeaky plastic wedged between the velvet couches and beat up coffee table. A large plastic bowl and several empty bottles were strewn about the wooden surface, a handful of popcorn kernels in the bottom of the bowl and scattered along the floor. There was someone buried beneath a pile of blankets on the couch, his spiked hair peeking out and glittering even in the weak light seeping through the curtains. Magnus’s arm was hanging off the couch, trailing along the air mattress where a girl was sleeping. 

Emmeline. 

Alec smiled with relief, watching as the warlock shifted in her sleep. The silver lines on her skin surged in slow, regulated pulses, and her dark locks were splayed out on the mattress below her, spilling over onto the floor. Alec dropped his keys on the table and moved toward the tiny kitchen, tossing his jacket over the chair back and digging in the cupboards for the coffee tin. Another moan escaped the living room as Emmeline’s eyes fluttered open, slowly, painfully as if the minimal light scorched her retinas. 

“Morning, Em,” Alec smiled from the kitchen, plugging in the coffee maker. She blinked at him, slamming and reopening her eyes, and gave him a half-assed grunting acknowledgment before flopping back down to the air mattress. 

“Magnus,” she groaned, throwing a hand over her eyes. The warlock didn’t stir. “Magnus,” Emmeline’s voice grew irritated and she dug her elbow into his hunched back. Magnus muttered something incomprehensible before burrowing further into his nest. “That’s hardly appropriate,” Emmeline replied, hoisting herself from the floor. She stumbled to her feet, leaning against the couch back and holding a hand to her forehead. “Get your ass out of bed,” she ordered Magnus. “If you want to go to the party tonight, you’ll need the time to get ready.” 

Alec muffled a laugh as he snatched two clean mugs from the drying rack, filling them with steaming coffee. Emmeline slid onto the barstool across from him. 

“You know,” he said, dropping a sugar cube into one and three into another, “most boyfriends would be unnerved by that.” He motioned to the living room where Emmeline’s blouse and jeans were hung over a chair and empty bottles of gin glimmered in the sunlight. Emmeline scoffed.

“He’s bisexual,” she replied. “Not _incestual_.” Alec slid the mug into her hands. “Oh, you’re an angel.”

“Only partially,” he smirked at her. Emmeline held the warm mug in her hands, letting the steam seep into her nose. She took a sip and sank into the counter, silver lines sparkling before him. Alec figured that both Magnus and Emmeline had rather lucked out with their Marks. He’d heard of warlocks having horns or green skin, webbed fingers or insect wings. They would never be able to venture into the mundane world, not that they wanted to, but at least Magnus and Emmeline could pull it off if necessary. All Magnus had to do was avoid crops tops. Emmeline mostly had to deal with long sleeves and pants year-round. 

“Damn,” Emmeline mumbled from her coffee mug, eyes glancing back to where Magnus still slept. “He really does sleep like a rock, doesn’t he?”

Alec laughed, “In my experience, yes.” 

Her eyes flashed with a knowing glimmer, “I can imagine he’s a pain to get out of bed in the morning.”

“After your years of experience,” Alec replied, leaning against the counter, “I’m sure you can.”

“Yeah, well,” Emmeline sighed. “I’m not his first choice bed-buddy anymore.” Alec laughed, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “He wasn’t so bad in Istanbul,” Emmeline continued, brushing the hair from her face. “I think it was the weather. Or the fact that we slept during the day and only went out at night. He’s a bit of a night owl, honestly. It helps, ya know, with all that,” she made a great sweeping motion over her face, “glitter.” Alec laughed and poured himself the remainder of the coffee, taking a seat across from Emmeline. 

“So, what’d you two crazy kids do last night?” he asked, nodding toward the empty bottles. Alec would come in some nights and find the two of them in the living room doubled over with laughter and blue in the face. Quite literally. Sometimes it was blue, sometimes pink. One time Alec found Magnus with a bedazzled butterfly painted on his face. Emmeline had sported a Christmas tree. 

“ _Bride-Day Friday_ ,” Emmeline scoffed. “Duh.” 

“Of course,” he replied sarcastically. “Tequila shot for every _yes_?”

“Hell yeah.”

Alec decided that a pitcher of water might be a bit overkill considering Emmeline’s presence. Perhaps he’d go easy on Magnus this time. It wasn’t often that the two warlocks had the opportunity to hang out and actually enjoy themselves, especially after the time she’d spent in Cairo last year. He left Emmeline at the counter nursing her coffee, the silver lines of her skin beginning to pulse more regularly as she sucked down caffeine. Alec picked his way through the living room, around Emmeline’s air mattress and discarded blankets, until he came to crouch next to Magnus’s shrouded head. 

He heard the bathroom door click shut and, moments later, the familiar hum of Emmeline turning on the shower. Leaning forward, Alec reached out and ran a hand along Magnus’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his bundled face.

“Magnus,” he whispered, placing a gentle hand against the back of his head and cradling it in his palm. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the blue tipped locks. “Time to wake up, baby.” There came a faint moan as Magnus stirred, his head spinning around lazily, followed by his stiff limbs. Golden cat eyes gazed up at Alec and he smiled.

“Morning, love,” Magnus grinned, a smear of blue eyeliner drawn across his toffee-colored temple. Alec leaned down and pressed his lips against Magnus’s, tasting the sweet sting of leftover gin and popcorn salt. 

“Did you two have fun last night?” Alec felt Magnus lace his long fingers through his, two studded rings pressing against them. 

“Riotous,” Magnus replied, reaching up to run a hand through Alec’s hair. “How’s the cut healing?” Magnus traced his thumb along the soft white line that ran across Alec’s forehead. 

“Nearly gone,” Alec leaned into his touch, resting his face against his warm palm. “Although Jace thought it a bit silly not to use a healing rune.”

“You’re my patient,” Magnus insisted. “I’ll treat you how I see fit. And besides,” he continued, “my powers are far more potent than any rune. I can’t take any risks with such an important patient. Plus, no ghastly scribble on your face.”

“Ghastly?” Alec teased, pulling away slightly. Magnus tightened his grip and pulled him back, nearly yanking him onto the sofa and on top of him as they laughed. “You think I’m ghastly?” Alec asked jokingly, one arm on either side of Magnus’s shoulders, their faces inches apart. Magnus reached forward and traced the dark lines of the rune adorning Alec’s neck, then the one that decorated his collarbone. 

He smiled, the smile that made Alec’s heart both flutter and melt, sending warm tendrils of light through his body, “I think you’re exquisite.” They laid like that for several minutes, Alec kneeling beside the couch as Magnus reiterated the events of last evening, including his and Emmeline’s conflicting opinions on trumpet versus ball gown silhouettes. Eventually, Alec rose to his feet and offered Magnus two hands to hoist him from his nest on the couch. Fully righted, Magnus placed a kiss on Alec’s lips before leading him by the hand to his bedroom, walking past the bathroom door where Emmeline was enjoying her steam shower. 

Magnus’s bedroom seemed far less tidy, an obvious sign that Emmeline dared not enter the domain of the master of the house. The bed was unmade, clothes bursting from multiple wardrobes, and the vanity was caked with a dusting of powder and glitter. Magnus glided over to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer and bringing out a small tin, the top tufted with purple velvet. He motioned to the bed and Alec moved over, nestling himself into the mound of blankets. Magnus pulled over an ornately backed chair and positioned himself in front of Alec. 

Twisting the lid, Magnus tossed aside the cap and revealed a tin filled with a pale, rose-colored gel. He dipped his fingers inside and pulled out a small dollop. 

“No wiggling,” he instructed and raised a hand to Alec’s forehead. The gel was cool and Magnus gently rubbed it along Alec’s hairline where the thick scar disrupted his pale skin. Alec sat still and allowed the warlock to administer his medication, watching with a smile as Magnus bit at his lower lip, focusing intently on Alec’s wound. Soon, Magnus was wiping his fingers on the hem of his housecoat and slipping the tin back into the nightstand. He returned and placed a hand on either side of Alec’s face, tiling his head toward the dim light of the lamp so he could better inspect the cut. 

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Alec chuckled, looking up at him from the bedsheets. Magnus smirked and let his hand trail down to cup Alec’s cheek.

“Full recovery,” he said, a glimmer of mischief in his golden eyes. “As long as you keep up with your appointments.” Alec laughed and, in one swift movement, had pulled Magnus down to the bed, the warlock’s body landing squarely on top of his and his silk housecoat flying back to reveal smooth, caramel skin. He so rarely caught Magnus by surprise, and Alec reveled in the moments that he did, watching as the warlock’s eyes flashed to thin slits and feeling his muscles tense. Even his breath began to quicken. 

“Well then,” Alec whispered, meeting Magnus’s gaze with his own mischief. “If you say so.” Magnus remained tense overtop of his, his expression of shock and pure pleasure still plainly evident, but soon his charm returned and Alec felt as his body relaxed on top of him.

“Doctor’s orders,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss him. Each time was like the first, the same sensation of wildfire and lightning as they pressed against each other. Alec knew he would never tire of it. 

“Magnus!” Emmeline’s voice echoed through the apartment, the bathroom only a few feet down the hall, but Magnus didn’t relent. He placed several more feverish, then sweeter, kisses along Alec’s jaw and neck before placing one last kiss on his lips. “Magnus!” Emmeline’s voice found them once more. “I can’t find the conditioner!” Alec couldn’t help himself. He laughed against Magnus’s forehead, the warlock shooting a poisonous glare at the bedroom door. 

“Go on,” Alec assured him, running a hand down the side of his face and the edge of his cheekbone. “I can always stay the night after the party.” Magnus seemed to brighten at this.

“Yeah?” he asked, Emmeline’s disgruntled curses echoing through the hall as the sound of tumbling bottles filled the apartment. Alec leaned up and caught his face in his hand, bringing it down to meet his. 

He finally pulled away, watching as Magnus’s eyes flashed gold, “Yeah.” Magnus sprung to his feet, wrapping the belt of his housecoat in an elegant flourish. He disappeared into the hallway and Alec flopped back onto the bed.

“Hold on, hold on!” Magnus shouted at Emmeline, his voice reverberating off the tiled walls of the shower. “That’s not conditioner. You’ll turn your hair blue, dear.” 

“ _Blue?_ ” 

A wave of bottles crashed into the tub along with the combined chorus of Emmeline and Magnus’s profanities. Alec laughed, folding his arms behind his head, and let the smell of Magnus’s bed fill his senses. Eventually, he closed his eyes and waited for the warlocks to get ready.


	3. Pride

The mid-fall air was crisp and warm, the way only autumn air could feel and the perfect atmosphere for thick sweaters and comfy boots. It was Alec’s favorite time of the year. Crunching leaves, the heavy scent of earth, and winter just around the corner. It was his season, when he felt most comfortable, even more so when seated at a patio table under a colorful awning with Magnus’s hand laced through his beneath the tabletop. He and Emmeline were arguing the finer points of perfectly stewed pho, when to add the meat, the noodles, whether pepper or cilantro was a better highlight. They’d made the brothy, noodle soup on several occasions when Alec stayed the weekend. Magnus had even instructed him on how to make it when Emmeline first returned from Cairo and they’d arranged a welcome home party. 

Now, however, they sat on the veranda of a quaint French bistro with plates of fruit tarts and _kue sus_ and hot coffee in elegant white cups. It was too early in the day for drinks as Emmeline had pointed out, much to Magnus’s dismay, so the warlock sipped his espresso with emerald painted fingers. 

It was an area of the city that Alec had not frequented often. In fact, he rarely came so close to the Upper East Side, except for the occasional romp to Central Park and the Seelie Queen’s court. There was little demonic or Downworlder activity in such high status neighborhoods, at least nothing worth their attention or within their influence. He felt a bit out of place, unconsciously tugging at the sleeves of his sweater in an attempt to hide his rune-covered arms, despite the fact that there were several other young and fashionably dressed groups planted at various cafes along the street, many of whom looked quite similar to their own company. Magnus’s ring laden hand came to rest on his forearm with a gentle touch. 

“There’s no need for that,” he caught Alec’s gaze. “The glamour Emmeline applied makes them look completely mundane.” Alec’s throat swelled shut as Magnus pulled back his thick knit, blue sleeve, exposing his Shadowhunter runes to the world around. His eyes flitted to the people seated and walking around them, but no one seemed to notice the pale boy and his strange markings, or the fact that the flamboyantly dressed man to his right was now caressing his arm. Magnus began to trace the _Strength_ rune on his inner wrist. “This one simply looks like a bow and arrow,” he said, running his nail along the ink. “Quite dashing, too.” 

“Well, I’m glad you like them,” Emmeline smirked, taking a bite from her plate. “Little trick I developed. Why should you have to hide all the time? Rob the world of that gorgeous face.” Alec felt the heat rush to his face. He still wasn’t completely used to the way Magnus and Emmeline spoke so freely. It was their nature, he supposed. After centuries of life, the warlocks had likely lost interest in such things as appropriateness and acceptability, at least when those labels were applied by exclusionary and elitist organizations. They had their own codes. 

Suddenly, Emmeline’s face pinched, brows furrowing as she tilted her head. Alec could see her ears twitching ever so slightly beneath her chocolate hair. 

“Do you hear that?” she asked, eyes darting in reaction to seemingly nonexistent sounds. 

“It’s the caffeine, dear,” Magnus replied. “It always did do silly things to you.” Emmeline seemed unconvinced. She sat up in her chair, hands loosely gripping the armrests as she spun about to look around them.

“No,” she corrected Magnus. “I hear something. Don’t you hear it?” She turned to him, eyes locking with his. Magnus set down his coffee with a sigh and closed his eyes, honing his senses to pacify his little sister. Alec expected them to flash open any second, golden cat eyes glaring at Emmeline with amused annoyance. Instead, the warlock’s head tipped to the right and his brows pinched. 

“Voices,” he finally said, hand still laced through Alec’s. “Quite a few.”

“And they don’t sound pleased,” Emmeline began scanning the street. Her gaze washed over the walkers on the pavement, the bikers on the street, and the diners at outdoor cafes. Then her gaze swept across the street to the pub, a dilapidated old shack wedged between two brick buildings, an apartment and another restaurant. Before he’d even turned his head, Alec could see her eyes narrow and her expression turn sour. Magnus, however, looked entirely displeased. Even uncomfortable. 

The doors of the pub swung open and a fivesome of men tumbled out onto the street, voices loud enough for all the world to hear even without the advanced senses of the three gathered here. Magnus immediately turned back to the table, his normally poised posture sinking ever so slightly into his chair. 

“How regrettable,” he mumbled and fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup. “And I was having such a lovely day.”

“Who are they?” Alec asked, stretching to see the men across the street.

“Miscreants,” Emmeline responded with a snap, her eyes filled with disgust.

“Come now,” Magnus’s grip had tightened on Alec’s hand. “I wouldn't give them that much credit. They’re hardly worth our time.”

“But who are they?” Alec insisted, watching as the men loitered outside the pub. They didn’t look like Downworlders, at least not obviously. Magnus was about to redirect the conversation when Emmeline slammed her spoon onto the table.

“That’s it!” she spat, moving as if to rise from her chair. Magnus’s hand darted out and pinned her to her place. “Can’t you hear them?” she glared at the warlock, eyes blazing with fire. “Can’t you hear what they’re saying?” Alec hadn’t really been paying attention, the men’s words were so loud and boisterous, but he took the moment to focus in, picking their voices from the chorus of the city.

“Look at this place,” the man threw out a swinging arm to the street. “Used to be a place where you could come grab a drink, hang with good people. Now look at it. _Fags_ everywhere!” 

Magnus’s grip tightened on Alec’s hand again and, this time, Alec squeezed back.

“What’s happening to this city?” another posed. “It’s all going downhill, I tell you. They’re bringing in disease and fucking filth everywhere. Filling the streets with their noise.”

“This used to be a good neighborhood,” one of the men said. “Now there’s a hipster, _faggot_ store on every corner. Two of ‘em just moved into my building!” 

At this, the entire group let out a chorus of moans and profanities, the likes of which Alec had never heard. He had no doubt that his entire face had washed to sickly ivory, his cheeks like crimson burns across his blank expression. He glanced over at Magnus and was shocked at the warlock’s weak countenance. He’d never seen Magnus look so dejected, so passive. It was as if he actually cared what they said. For some reason, Alec turned his gaze to the tables around them and saw that they weren’t the only ones to notice the influx of bigotry. Several other tables now glanced with sour faces to look at the group across the street. Even some across the street, those close enough to hear every curse from the men’s mouths, had moved their sandwiches to further tables.

“I’m not letting this happen,” Emmeline shot up from her seat, sending the chair skittered back against the sidewalk. “This is shameful.” 

“Emmie,” Magnus pleaded, reaching out to grab her jacket sleeve. “Please don’t.”

“No, Magnus,” she growled at him through clenched teeth. “They’re vile, disgraceful excuses for human beings and I will not stand by as they spout such defamations.” She flew to the street edge, waiting for the stream of traffic to abate, her eyes red with rage. In an instant, Magnus and Alec were at her side. 

“Emmeline, just sit back down,” Alec’s voice barely rose over the roar of traffic. “It’s fine. Really. It’s not like Magnus or I haven’t heard it before a million times, and far worse.” She didn’t seem to hear him, or, more likely, she chose not to listen. The cross traffic light flicked to a flashing hand and soon the countdown began as car after car sped by, eeking past the ticking clock. Yellow shone, then red, and soon the traffic broke and Emmeline made to step down the curb. Magnus’s hand flew out and wrapped around Emmeline’s arm, causing the warlock to glare back at her brother. 

“Emmie,” he pleaded. “ _Please_. Just let it go.” For a moment, Alec though she might relent she looked at Magnus with such love, but it quickly faded to determined purpose, something dark and ancient in her eyes. 

“I’ve walked these streets long before any of them were even a whisper of a thought,” she growled, “and so have _you_.” At this, Magnus’s back seemed to straighten. “If this city belongs to anyone, it belongs to us.” Emmeline’s eyes flashed with a familiar glimmer of mischief. “Where’s your sense of pride?”

Magnus’s mouth twisted into a pout. “Bit cliché, don’t you think?” But Emmeline had already jumped to the street and bee-lined for the men. 

As she strode across the street, dark wool trench coat and chocolate locks billowing out behind her, Alec couldn’t help but think she looked like an ancient Valkyrie come to life, blood drenched spear in outstretched hand and broken soldiers in her grasp. That or a fearsome runway model, each step rocking the earth beneath her feet. She gave him strength, a strength he had not felt since Clary had carved a _Fearless_ rune into his flesh. Perhaps this is what true fearlessness felt like. 

He grabbed Magnus by the hand, lacing their fingers together, and the warlock’s normally poised face was stricken with shock as he marched them across the street behind Emmeline. As they approached, the men turned their shaming gazes from those around them and glared them down, each face twisting and sneering at the sight of three such _undesirables_. They seemed particularly taken aback by Magnus’s blue pinstriped suit and green silk shirt. 

“Aw, great,” huffed the tall man with blonde hair as he glowered at Emmeline. “What do you _homos_ want?” Alec could see that Emmeline was trying to compose herself, trying to come up with the most eloquent way of silencing these men once and for all, but he knew nothing ever would. Nothing she could say would make them listen and he thought, perhaps, he could yet be fearless. 

Dozens of people now watched in earnest as the three faced off against five, but Alec did not see them. He saw only Magnus, gold cat eyes flashing with confusion as Alec reached for his glittering face. In one swift movement, he drew his slender neck up and brought their lips together, the collective gasp echoing from all around, but – for that one moment – all he saw, all he heard, all he felt was Magnus. He didn’t even realize the tables around them had fallen silent until he’d finally pulled away, fingers still entangled in Magnus’s spiked hair. 

When he finally turned to face the five men, he knew any trace of horrible forced shame had fled his body, at least for the moment, and he glared at them with piercing blue eyes, hand gripped possessively around Magnus’s neck.

“I doubt anyone could ever love you the way he loves me.”

Alec wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d thought that maybe they would yell at him, even lunge forward and swing an angry fist at him. Instead, each of the men stood slack jawed, speechless, and completely ridiculed. Emmeline beamed down at him with the greatest expression of pride he’d ever received from her, and Magnus’s face was lit with a joy he’d never seen. He hoped he would never lose it. Magnus’s hand gripped tightly and proudly in his own, Alec gave the men one final stare before turning back across the street, gliding confidently down the sidewalk to the sound of roaring cheers.


	4. Fallen Star

Magnus never invited anyone anywhere. Specifically, he never invited Alec’s fellow Shadowhunters anywhere beyond the typical parties that ravaged his industrial loft home or the venues owned by his fellow Downworlder elite. Today was one such day. The High Warlock of Brooklyn had extended an invitation to the children of the New York Institute to attend a soirée at the property of some high level Downworlder. The event was still several hours away, long after the sun would set, but Magnus had called Alec and told him and the others to come to a separate address in the hours before the party. Jace and Clary were on the other side of town at Luke’s house, dealing with some pack issue that needed sorting, but they were on their way. Simon and Isabelle were coming from the Institute not long behind him, but Alec arrived at the address first.

Looking up at the vast brick building, Alec wondered if every block in New York was filled with such industrial spaces, places that had once housed factories and the like, but now functioned as far more fashionable venues. This particular building sported towering brick walls with long glass windows. Only those on the first floor were blacked out with thick layers of paint. The windows of the second floor seemed unaltered, glittering in the early evening sun. The rest of the numbers on the street were held by similar brick buildings – apartments, residences, some small shops, booths for a market – but some were still uninhabited, hallow and empty. It seemed that this neighborhood had not yet been completely made-over. Alec smiled. He liked it this way. 

A faint whispering of music trickled out from one of the second floor windows and peaked Alec’s interest. He strode up the small front steps and turned the knob on the door. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the interior reminded him much of Magnus’s loft building. High ceilings, bare piping, and exposed framework and beams. What differed, though, was the row of metal lockers – like those in a school or gym – that lined the wall. Some were closed, some locked with padlocks, and others hung open. Inside, Alec could see duffle bags and drawstring totes, even a few towels and water bottles. Was it actually a gym? If so, it was high on the list of strangest places Magnus had ever drug them to. 

The front door swung open behind him and Alec turned to see Simon and Isabelle crossing the threshold.

“Well, I see you’ve beaten us here,” Isabelle smiled at him. “Yet again.”

“Any idea what Magnus has in store for us today?” Simon asked, whipping his glasses on the edge of his plaid shirt. “My cousin Lara comes to the farmer’s market around here every so often. Is this gonna be some kind of cooking class?” Isabelle scoffed and gave Simon an equally loving and condescending pat to the shoulder.

“Have you ever seen Magnus set foot in a kitchen?” she asked. “Let alone cook something?”

“No,” Simon replied, “but maybe this is his way of taking initiative.” 

The door swung open once more and the combined glow of Jace and Clary’s hair set the dimly lit landing ablaze with crimson and gold. Metal hinges slammed behind them as the five bodies wedged themselves into the narrow hallway.

“Is this Magnus’s idea of a good time?” Jace muttered, hugging the wall. “Because I have far more useful things I could be doing.”

“Is your time really in such high demand?” Simon retorted, shoving aside the black sleeved elbow that had unceremoniously stabbed his ribcage. 

“My stocks increase every day,” Jace replied with smug satisfaction. 

“All right, you two,” Isabelle’s voice broke through the chatter. “You can finish measuring later. Clary, care to lead the way?” Clary gave a relieved sigh and darted up the open metal staircase, thick canvas boots stomping on each step as the rest of their gathering fell in behind her. Alec brought up the rear behind Jace.

“Any idea what’s going on?” the boy muttered over his shoulder as they came to the top of the staircase. The music that had been weakly trickling out the open widow outside now grew in confidence, layered with the distinct sound of voices. 

“Not a clue,” Alec admitted. A large chunk of the left wall had been cut away to make a ceiling-high doorway and it cast a bright beam of light on the second floor landing. One by one, Clary, Simon, and Isabelle disappeared from sight until Jace and Alec finally entered the room, blinded by a flood of sunset light. 

The room stretched the entire length of the building, taking up all of the second floor. Alec spotted the open window on the far left wall, followed in suit by a dozen other floor to ceiling windows. The floor itself was made of polished hardwood and shone in the light like a golden ocean. All along the right wall were panels of mirrors reflecting a dozen unknown bodies, save one. 

“Was wondering if you lot were ever going to show up,” Magnus glided over, barefoot and glistening with a sheen of sweat and glitter. He moved first to Alec and placed a sweaty kiss on his forehead, Alec slipping one to his temple. He tasted of salt and earth. 

“And what exactly have we shown up to?” Clary asked, scanning the crowd of equally perspiring individuals spread about the floor.

“Although I’m sure my presence was undoubtedly specifically requested,” Jace interjected, smooth strides bringing him to the front of their group to better inspect their company, “I’m not actually in the mood for an orgy at the moment.” 

“What a shame,” Simon mumbled and Clary stifled a laugh, cheeks blushing. 

“Give me a call next week,” the blonde boy waved a dismissive hand at Magnus and made for the door. 

“Rather fortunately,” the warlock’s voice drew his attention, a sly smirk on his sharp face, “you must be invited to perform here, dear Jace. We don’t let just anyone in these doors.” 

“Perform?” Clary inquired, eyes darting to the people in front of them.

“Yes,” Magnus affirmed, wrapping a slick arm around Alec’s shoulders. “And luckily for you, you’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Isabelle asked. Alec could see Magnus smile out of the corner of his eye, the warlock’s gold eyes flashing to slim slits.

“The show.” 

The music that had once serenaded them softly in the background began to grow and Alec and the others were pushed back as the people on the floor parted, a single figure remaining in the center. He knew the song. Clary had played it once from her laptop, _Cosmic Love_. Twinkling and light and flowing like crick water over smooth rocks. The girl slowly raised her tipped head and they all were met with familiar dark eyes and sharp features. 

Emmeline’s arms extended and reached for the sky, her leg pointing out strong at the mirrored wall as she spun. She dipped low, trailing her fingertips along the wood before springing up, legs kicked out from her side. When she landed, it was only on toes, easing her alighting with practiced muscle. Her body rippled and rolled in the air, arms clenching her chest and loose flowing shirt. She spun in time with the flourish of the music. Her arms seemed to manipulate her legs with the strings of a marionette, varied with flourishes and spins as if she were suspended in water. Drums pounded and she beat her fists in time, knees flexing and bringing her to the ground. She shot up, body stiff as a board as she reached two splayed hands to the sky. Her legs spun in a fan, one after the other, until she flowed to the ground, legs split and then bridging her body in an elegant arch. Bent over, she spun on heels of hand and foot, the other tapping out the rhythm of the music. Her body bent and twisted until she was righted once more, her limbs stretched out like the points of a star as she spun. 

As quickly as it had come, the music faded and Emmeline stood alone at the center of the room, dozens of eyes gazing with fascination. Her fellow dancers began to clap and applaud her, smiling as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. Alec realized a small smile had crept onto his face during her dance and he looked to see similar expressions of infatuation on the others’ faces. Isabelle clapped eagerly along with the other dancers, Simon joining her slowly as if he were still stuck back in Emmeline’s dance, his eyes glazed over. Jace’s arms had fallen from their typically crossed position to hook into the loops of his pants as his gold eyes inspected Emmeline from afar. Clary smiled wider than them all, her cheeks pressed against her eyes as she looked back and forth between Magnus and Emmeline. The warlock smiled proudly, his breathing having returned to normal, but he did not remove his arm from Alec’s shoulders until Emmeline finally made her way over.

“That was incredible!” Isabelle exclaimed, giddy with excitement.

“And to think Jace assumed he was the top performer,” Simon sneered and Jace snorted. 

“Clearly,” he replied, a faint smile tickling at the edges of his lips, “I am out-matched.” 

“I had no idea you were a dancer,” Alec parted from Emmeline’s sweaty hug. The warlock smiled at him, chest still heaving, and waved him off. 

“I’m not a dancer,” she huffed, graciously accepting the hair tie that Clary offered her from the bundle on her wrist. 

“You could’ve fooled…well…everyone,” Simon said, his eyes darting to the group of other dancers gathered behind her. “I didn’t know there was a studio up here. I’ve been to the market downstairs a dozen times and never seen anything.”

“That’s how we like it,” Emmeline explained, taking a gulp from her water bottle. “Strictly speaking, we’re not open to the public. You’re looking at the only Downworlder-exclusive studio in the city. Josiah, the fairy in the leotard, he’s prelaw at Columbia. I think he’s on his eighth degree now. And Raavi, she’s the yaksha just arrived from Dubai. The blonde fairy, Cordelia, she’s got a degree in chemical engineering, but most centuries she’s bouncing between here and Sydney.” Every fairy and warlock and other such creature donned similar garb, oversized sweaters and well fitted pants, foreheads gleaming with sweat whether ivory, chocolate, or green. Alec snuck a glance up at Magnus.

“So, does that mean?” Alec gave the warlock a quick once over, noting his roughly cut sweatshirt and tight capris pants. Like Emmeline, he was barefoot. 

“Perhaps Magnus will give us a show, too,” Jace chuckled, running a hand through his blonde locks. Magnus held up a defiantly absolute hand.

“Sorry, children,” he squeezed Alec’s shoulder before swooping to the front of the room, snatching up a duffle, and waving farewell to the other dancers. “If you want a private dance from me,” he caught Alec’s eye and gave him a small wink, “you’ll have to buy me a drink first.”


	5. House of Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter. I thought you guys deserved it after such a drought.

It didn’t take long for Emmeline to clean up after her impromptu performance, quickly changing from her dance attire to more acceptable street clothes, if they could even be called that. Clary found that no matter how quick or unplanned the event, Emmeline managed to look effortlessly. When she emerged from the locker room, a black tote slung over her shoulder, she looked every bit the immortal incantation caster she was. The athletic duffle should have looked completely out of place strapped beneath her arm, a crude tough fabric compared to the silky lengths of fabric now wrapped around her body. 

It looked like something off a Valentino runway, the type of gown more suited to a red carpet event than the loft party they had undoubtedly been invited to. All black lace and long, elegant sleeves, the delicately stitched skirt falling to the floor in a column of black fabric. Clary chuckled when she saw the thick, black combat boots peeking out from behind the sheer fabric. They matched the black leather jacket around her shoulders.

Magnus, however, was far more tedious in his preparation. An extra twenty-five minutes and he emerged, dapper in a paisley printed, magenta velvet housecoat and matching slippers. He twirled a slick cane in his purple painted hand, the tips of his spiked black hair dyed to match. 

“Damn,” Jace muttered from the mirrored wall, eyeing both warlocks with what Clary would qualify as a mixture of annoyed impatience and sexual admiration. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Simon interjected, glancing down at the faded blue fabric of his _Bladerunner_ tee. Clary gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, looking at the tattered plaid shirt wrapped about her waist. It was a hand-me-down of Luke’s and it smelt of paper pages and stale coffee. She’d learned long ago that these kinds of parties were something she was never prepared for, and she learned to go with it. Confidence was key.

“You look fantastic!” Isabelle swooped in, grabbing Emmeline by the hand and twirling her around, the lace of her skirt flaring out around her boots. 

“Thanks, girlie,” Emmeline smiled back, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Clary turned just in time to see Alec slip in behind them and steal a quick kiss from Magnus. No one had noticed but her, it seemed, and she cracked a small grin at having witnessed the moment, quickly averting her eyes. 

“So,” Jace slipped in beside her, wrapping a leather-clad arm around her waist, “Is this a party of seven or?” 

Magnus darted for the door, Emmeline on his arm and Alec reaching for the light switch.

“Such small affairs are typically reserved for VIPs,” Magnus informed them, motioning toward the doorway and his cat eyes flashing. “This is something of an exclusive event, I suppose.” 

~*~

It took roughly fifteen minutes for them to walk from the studio to the location of the night’s frivolities. At first, the building loomed above them with crumbling brick walls and shattered windows, half-dead ivy clinging weakly to bent rod iron fencing. A glamour. Already it was peeling away, and underneath was a magnificent manor. Layer by layer, the glamour melted to reveal a majestic structure. It looked as though it belonged in Victorian England, not plopped on an abandoned block in Queens. 

Magnus pushed open the now intricately woven gate and strode toward the massive front doors. As Alec passed through, he noticed that the smooth metal bars were bent to form a cluster of poppy flowers. The same seal was carved into the front doors as Magnus raised a fist to knock. As his knuckles met smooth, polished wood, a flourish of blue magic radiated out in sparkling rings and the doors gently swung open. One by one, they filed in.

The front foyer was enormous and the black marble floors were so finely polished that they reflected the beamed ceiling above, the elegant crosshatch echoed like a mirror. Warmly glowing sconces lined the wood-paneled walls and two thick wooden staircases curved around the far wall, leading to a mosaic marble poppy cluster in the center of the floor. Suddenly, Magnus went from seeming his normal, overdressed self to perfectly well suited, and Alec pulled nervously at the sleeves of his ratty sweater. 

A soft hand pressed comfortingly against the small of his back.

“You look wonderful,” Magnus whispered into Alec’s ear, his arm wrapping around Alec’s waist. Somehow, Alec believed him and gladly accepted the tight squeeze of the warlock’s hand on his hips. 

Footsteps echoed through the marble and wood foyer, and Alec momentarily broke from Magnus’s gaze to look to the grand stairs. For the first time in his life, Alec was taken aback by another man. 

He was tall and lilt, his limbs like willow branches swaying in the breeze as he calmly and effortlessly glided down the staircase. Like Magnus, he wore a suit, but his was far more modern, made from sleek black silk and paired with a rich blue shirt. He had supple, creamy skin and thick, dark brown curls that tickled at his ears and temples. In a way that was entirely infuriating, he tucked a wayward curl behind his ear, drawing attention to the black-stained flesh of his hands and fingers. If you didn’t look close enough, you’d think they were gloves, but Alec could see the edges of his peaked nails and the distinct stretching of tendons atop the tight flesh. 

“Magnus Bane,” he came to the end of the stairs with a smooth smirk.

“Morpheus,” Magnus replied, his own lips curling ever so slightly. 

Alec’s chest plate ached as he looked back and forth between the two gorgeous men. They had not broken their gaze, this Morpheus ignoring the rest of their company entirely. Even so, Alec was consumed by the looks that now passed between them. He wasn’t an idiot. Magnus was several centuries old, and he was incredibly attractive. It wasn’t completely unreasonable that he’d, at one point, been involved with the striking man before them. The question was, did something remain?

“I can honestly say I did not expect to see you here tonight,” the man added, giving Magnus an obvious once-over. Though he was not the subject of his gaze, Alec squirmed with nervousness. 

“Are we not invited?” Magnus replied, pursing his lips into a feigned pout. “How disappointing.”

“Don’t fret yourself into a fit,” Morpheus quipped, eyes flashing at Magnus. “It never did suit you.” Magnus returned his smile and twisted the head of his cane in his hands. “Care to introduce me?” Morpheus finally nodded toward the group gathered behind the warlock. Magnus gave a slightly confused glace back at them before stepping aside.

“Of course,” he said, motioning to their group. “I figured your affair could use a bit of Angel blood.” At this, Morpheus’s brow peaked and he eyed them curiously. “Jace Herondale, Clarissa Fairchild.” The two responded with a slight nod and a nervous half-wave, respectively. “Isabelle Lightwood and Simon Lewis.” 

“You’re no Nephilim,” Morpheus interjected, eyeing Simon with a hint of displeasure. 

“No,” Magnus replied, “but he’s known to be quite a bit of fun. Good to have around.” Simon gave a nervous laugh, stuffing his hands into his faded jeans. “And you remember Emmeline, of course.”

“Of course,” Morpheus smiled, taking Emmeline’s extended hand, not for a handshake, but to place a delicate kiss on her pale skin. “A pleasure, as always, Miss Stark.” Emmeline replied only with a narrowed smirk. 

Suddenly, Morpheus’s soft eyes turned on him, the golden brown shining like gems in the darkness. 

“And…who might this be?”

Alec anxiously attempted a dry swallow, his throat tight and rough, before looking expectantly to Magnus. He was shocked to feel the warlock’s arm slip back around his waist and pull him close, Alec’s cheek brushing against his.

“This is Alexander,” Magnus said, elegant fingers slipping into the far pocket of Alec’s jeans. Morpheus eyed him with an intensity that would have normally made Alec shy into a corner to hide, but Magnus’s arm made him strangely confident. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Alexander,” Morpheus bowed his head, eyes flashing in the candlelight. 

“ _Just_ Alec,” he replied. His cheeks flushed at the audacity of his statement, but he figured he might as well go with it. He tilted his head toward Magnus, “Only he calls me that.” This seemed to amuse Morpheus and he smiled, stealing a thoroughly pleased glance back at Magnus. 

“Well then,” their host motioned to a pair of thick wooden doors to the left, from which leaked the faintest glimmer of flashing lights and mumbling of music. “By all means, welcome. And please,” he flashed a wicked smile, “enjoy yourselves.” Morpheus excused himself and disappeared down a shadowed hallway, leaving their group to loiter in the foyer. It was Isabelle who eventually charged for the door.

“Whoa,” Simon hurried after her just as she was about to wrap her hands around the golden handles. “What’s your hurry?”

“This is _Morpheus’s_ house,” she replied, as if expecting him to understand her fervor. “I’ve been dying to get an invitation here.” Before she had the chance to grab the handles, the doors swung open of their own accord and the foyer was filled with flashing lights and thumping music. They followed Magnus as he strode into the room. 

Whereas the exterior and foyer of the manor were classically Victorian in styling and decor, this room was filled with a myriad of lights and neon that seemed to shine from nowhere. Posh black and white upholstered couches dotted the room, some round and others long and slender. There were glass coffee tables glittering everywhere and Alec noticed that the entire bar top was crafted from the same material. In a world of monochromatics, the partygoers appeared like multicolored fireflies. 

Immediately, Isabelle was dashing to the dancefloor, waving her arms at a pair of mauve-skinned fairies who smiled in return, raising flutes of a glowing pink liquid. Alec’s stomach flipped.

“Isabelle!” he called out after her, but she was beyond earshot now, the music drowning out his voice. 

“Don’t worry,” Simon appeared beside him, making ready to dive into the crowd. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” He followed after Isabelle, eventually joining her on the edge of the dance floor with the fairies. Alec smiled when he saw Simon passionately turn down a flute of pink liquid. 

“Clary,” Emmeline tapped the redhead on the shoulder. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Alec watched as Emmeline lead Clary towards the stage where Josiah and Raavi, two of her fellow dancers, were chatting with the band. Jace sauntered along after them, swiping a glass from a passing tray. Before he lifted it to his lips, Jace whipped around and raised a questioning brow at Magnus. The warlock nodded his approval and Jace eagerly took a sip from the drink before heading toward the stage. 

“Would you like a drink?” Magnus asked, motioning toward the glass bar. Alec smiled and led the way through the crowd. He could see people looking at them, shooting glances out the corner of their eyes. Obviously, they were looking at Magnus. He usually garnered such attention when they were out and about. High Warlock of Brooklyn was a prestigious title. They reached the bar and Magnus flagged down the bartender, a fairy with green skin and red eyes. She returned a moment later with two glasses, a deep gold liquid inside. Alec took one and handed the other to Magnus, who smiled and toasted him before taking a sip. 

Alec watched as Simon and Izzy chatted with the fairies at the edge of the dancefloor, his sister smiling and laughing as Simon placed an arm on her shoulder. The fairies seemed quite smitten with him, though Simon clearly had no interest in them. Across the room, Emmeline reintroduced Clary and Jace to her friends from the studio. For the moment, they seemed to be relatively alone. 

“That guy,” Alec muttered into his glass, half hoping that Magnus wouldn’t hear. “Morpheus. How do you know him, exactly?” Magnus glanced down at him, his elbows resting on the edge of the bar as he surveyed the crowd. 

“Exactly?” he asked. “What do you mean?” Alec’s face flushed.

“Well, you know…it’s just that…” he tripped and stumbled over his words, unsure of how to put it. “Well, anyone could see the way he looked at you. And I was just wondering if, you know, back in the day, if…”

Magnus began to shake his head, a smile spreading across his caramel face. 

“Oh, Alec,” he laughed, turning around to lean on the bar next to him. “Sometimes I forget how naïve you can be. Yes,” Magnus finally answered. “Morpheus and I were… _involved_ , for a time. I met him in Venice. It was a summer fling, short and hot and fleeting. In the end, he was too fickle, which is saying something, really.”

“Were you fickle?” Alec mumbled, eyes flicking toward Magnus. The warlock looked down at him with a warm smile, taking the barstool next to him. He leaned his cane against the base of the bar and slipped his hand onto Alec’s thigh. 

“I hardly think that matters anymore, do you?” 

Heat rushed Alec’s face and he mumbled something along the lines of a _no_ into the bar top. He contently sipped his drink, his hand splayed out on top of his leg to play with Magnus’s fingertips. Suddenly, Jace appeared at his side, an empty glass in his hand, and motioned for the bartender. 

“What happened to Clary?” Alec asked, tilting his head back to look at the stage. 

“Apparently the lead guitarist is a fan of _Walk the Moon_ ,” Jace replied, sneaking a wink at the fairy as she slid him his drink. “I can only assume they’re bonding over their shared love of hipster music.” 

“What’s a hipster?” Alec asked. Magnus placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded toward the crowd.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, golden eyes flashing to thin slits. Alec slipped a quick kiss to his cheek before the warlock disappeared into the crowd, his path leading him directly toward their host. 

~*~

He had been foolish to think that the night could have gone any other way. Even now as he wove his way through the crowd of Downworlders, Magnus regretted having left Alec’s side. Instead, he found himself trailing after the one person he hoped never to chase after again. Morpheus smiled at him from the far side of the room, his figure half hidden within a thick wooden doorframe. As Magnus approached, he disappeared into the shadows. 

The hallway was dark, dimly lit by a row of flickering sconces on each wooden panel. They were interspersed with luxuriously carved tables, velvet curtains, and priceless paintings. Magnus slowly strode down the hall, his cane rapping a metered click on the wooden floor with each step. 

“I never pegged you as the settling type,” Morpheus voice echoed through the hall. Magnus’s ears twitched, locking in on Morpheus’s location. Not far.

“Settling down is hardly settling,” he replied. Morpheus chuckled, appearing from behind a velvet curtain, his black hands playing at the edge of his lips as he eyed Magnus. 

“My Magnus would never have believed that,” he said, brown eyes sweeping over Magnus.

He knew his own eyes were changing now, flashing in the darkness to thin, golden slits. “I’m not your Magnus anymore.”

“Do you really believe that?” 

Magnus turned to admire the painting on the wall. An original Richard Dadd. “You had your chance, Morpheus. And I can honestly say I’m elated that you royally fucked it up.” 

The air shifted and Magnus could feel Morpheus’s presence at his side, the same hot and murky cloud of musky chamomile and magic that had once riddled his senses. Black skinned fingertips danced at the collar of his shirt. 

“Can you honestly say,” Morpheus’s voice whispered in his ear, warm breath tickling the skin of Magnus’s neck, “that you aren’t dying for one last _fête de chair_? For old time’s sake?” 

In a single breath, Magnus was whisked back to the canals of Venice, Vivaldi’s _Summer_ playing in the distance, and a soft sea air fluttering through the tall windows. He was sitting in his favorite damask printed chair, the arms carved from rich rosewood. Morpheus’s robe was draped over the foot board, the silk sheets ruffled and tossed, and the scent of chamomile drifted all around. 

Calm, serene…quite. 

He was alone in the luxurious flat. That was when he looked down to his hand, saw the crystal glass loosely held in his fingertips and the caramel liquid inside. His head dropped and he saw with horror the tiny spots on his stomach, wet and glistening like diamonds. He reached a hand to his face and felt their source, his eyes tender and raw. The world swirled around him as a fiery rage erupted in his chest. 

“No,” Magnus growled, his voice echoing off the dark wooden panels of the hall. Venice was gone and he was back in the shadows, Morpheus watching him closely. Now he could see the faint glow fading from his blackened fingertips, and it only enraged him more. 

“What, darling?” Morpheus cooed beside him. “I thought you loved my tricks.” 

In a single moment, Magnus wrapped his hand around Morpheus’s throat and slammed him back against the wall, rich wood cracking and splintering behind him. Morpheus gagged, and then laughed.

“Well, now,” he smirked. “Isn’t this familiar.” 

Magnus tightened his grip, blue sparks beginning to fly from his fingers. When Morpheus raised his eyes to meet Magnus’s gaze, Magnus nearly lost all determination. Those eyes - rich, supple brown, they were hypnotizing – and the smell of his skin was intoxicating. Suddenly, a cool wave washed over him, soothing his frazzled nerves and tormented mind. Brown eyes, cruel and manipulative, gave way to beautiful blue, sweet and kind and wonderful. Raven hair, ratty sweaters, green tea, and cat hair. A gentle warmth filled Magnus’s chest and he pulled his hand from Morpheus’s throat. Red marks already swelled to the surface where his nails had dug into the creamy skin.

Straightening his velvet housecoat, Magnus snatched his cane from its place on the wall and watched as Morpheus gathered his breath. Before he had the chance to speak, Magnus stepped forward.

“Whatever happened between us,” he said, his voice firm, “ended centuries ago. You made certain of that. You have lost the privilege of my companionship, indefinitely. Furthermore,” he watched as Morpheus reclined against the wall, the cracked wood framing his head like a shattered halo, “If you ever attempt to inflict any level of harm toward any of them, particularly Alec…” Magnus spotted a flicker of uncertainty in Morpheus’s eyes. “Well, you know exactly what will happen.”

Magnus made for the glow of the party, his cane clicking on the hardwood. “Have a lovely evening, Morpheus, and thank you for the party,” he said, but stopped before passing through the door. He glanced over his shoulder, the shadowed outline of Morpheus a dark spot in the shadows. 

“And if you ever try to get inside my mind again,” Magnus growled from the doorway, the light of the party illuminating him, “I will eradicate you.” 

~*~

Alec rapped his fingers against the glass top of the bar, his eyes nervously flicking back and forth through the crowd. Magnus had disappeared like a shadow, and Alec had barely had the time to spot where he was going. Morpheus was frighteningly irresistible, even to Alec. He only hoped that, with their obvious history, Magnus would not be as easily charmed as he had been. As much as he disliked Morpheus, the man was beautifully hypnotic. 

Jace was happily chatting with the green-skinned bartender, swirling his drink as he laughed. After years of second hand experience, Alec could easily spot the difference between Jace’s flirting and simply polite conversation. Besides, Clary had nothing to fear. Jace was infatuated.

He had thought Magnus was equally infatuated with him, but now…now he wasn’t so certain. He’d never before met one of Magnus’s former lovers and he never expect that, when he did, they would be so incredibly magnificent. Or that Magnus would be so off-put. Alec felt like a pauper looking down at his ratty sweater with the hole in the wrist where he habitually rubbed with his thumb. He was nothing compared to Morpheus and his sleek suit and perfectly coifed curls. 

As if sensing his distress, Magnus suddenly appeared at his side. Cane in hand, he flagged down the bartender and greedily sucked down another glass of golden liquid. There was a faint flush to his caramel cheeks and the front of his jacket was slightly wrinkled. 

“Are you,” Alec stumbled over his words as he watched Magnus down his drink, “okay?” 

Slamming the glass onto the bar, Magnus abandoned his cane and reached for Alec’s unprepared face, yanking him forward to meet his ravenous mouth. It was long, hard, and animalistic, the way Magnus now kissed him, and Alec could do little but perch stiffly on his barstool, eyes first wide with shock and then fluttering gently closed. When Magnus pulled away, his arm remained possessively wrapped around Alec’s waist. He was still close enough that Alec could feel each breath on his tacky skin. 

“I am far better than okay,” Magnus replied, leaning closer still. Their noses brushed together just before their lips, the taste of Magnus’s mouth trimmed with honey. When they parted, Alec found he had laced his fingers through Magnus’s spiked hair, glitter now coating his pale hand. When he brought it down between them, they both laughed at the sight. 

“I guess there’s no way to hide this,” Alec joked, twisting his hand so the glitter caught the light of the disco ball. Suddenly, Magnus’s hand rose to meet his and gently wove his fingers through Alec’s, the neon lights flashing off the interlocking hands. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Magnus smiled at him, leaning forward to press his lips to Alec’s forehead, before signing it with another kiss. 

“Hey!” Jace bee-lined for them through the crowd, which had begun to cluster toward the stage. When he arrived, he was out of breath and wore a satisfied smile. “You’re gonna want to see this,” he threw his head back toward the stage where the band was filing on, instruments in hand. The drummer, guitarist, and bassist took their places but there was another among them, her form shadowed by the dim stage lights. After quick consideration, Alec recognized the long hair and leather jacket. 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Magnus proclaimed, a wide smile spreading across his face as he pulled on Alec’s hand, yanking him toward the crowded floor. Alec desperately clung to the bar top.

“No no no!” he pleaded, looking to Jace for assistance. The boy had already dove into the crowd, working his way to where Clary, Isabelle, and Simon were waiting. Alec did not dance. He never danced. The sight of all those bodies, the flashing lights, it was enough to send him scrambling for the corner. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Magnus tightened his grip on Alec’s hand, pulling him forward. Unable to cling to the bar, Alec was ripped from his lifeboat and scrambled to keep up with Magnus’s long strides. The warlock reached over head and tossed his cane through the air to be caught by the green-skinned bartender, who offered a cordial nod before stashing it below the bar. 

There was little Alec could do but be pulled along with Magnus’s momentum, falling into the crowd and weaving their way through to join the others. They were excited; even Jace, with his normally apathetic attitude, was watching the stage as the lights were turned up. 

A sharp clank echoed through the air, the lights flashing in time as the drummer kicked out the beat. Immediately, the crowd began to sway, eager eyes watching as spotlights lit the stage. Emmeline’s eyes were closed as she hummed out the first notes. 

_“Bed, stay in bed_  
_The feeling of your skin locked in my head_  
_Smoke, smoke me broke_  
_I don't care I'm down for what you want…”_

Isabelle was swift to move, swaying her hips in time to the song. She made quick work of grabbing Simon’s hands and guiding them to her hips before lacing hers over his shoulders. In a moment, they were lost to all around them, almost as quickly as Jace and Clary, leaving Alec alone to flounder in the middle of the floor. But he wasn’t alone. 

Magnus’s hand wrapped around his, long fingers playing at his sensitive skin as he turned him around to face him. He took Alec’s other hand, gold eyes looking up at him through dark lashes and glittered lids that sparkled in the strobe lights. Alec’s breath caught in his throat, his stomach pitching with fire. Soon, Magnus was drawing him close and Alec forgot the hordes of dancing strangers. 

The music was freeing, but not as much as Magnus. Not as much as the look he gave Alec as he draped his arms over Alec’s shoulders and slowly moved them to the flow of the music. Little by little, they gained pace, Alec’s stiff limbs loosening and his hips rolling against Magnus. Somehow, Magnus had shed his posh velvet jacket along the way and now sported only his loose flowing, blue blouse. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide the ridges of his toned stomach and the distinct curve of his waist, every movement of his hips drawing Alec’s gaze. 

By the time Emmeline punched out the chorus, Alec was completely unrestrained. He threw his head back, his eyelids speckled with the flashing lights, and felt as Magnus wrapped a strong hand around the back of his neck. He pulled Alec forward, their foreheads pressed against each other as beads of sweat trickled down Alec’s temples and back. Something smooth brushed over his lips and he gasped as Magnus’s tongue trailed along his lips, licking at his open mouth. Glittered hand buried in spiked hair, Alec threw himself into Magnus and tasted caramel and honey, cinnamon and sweet flesh. 

Eventually, those around them would notice their fervor and, by some strange twist of fate, Alec was actually glad. He hoped they all would see, that they would watch as Alec publically claimed Magnus as his own. Most of all, he hoped that, somewhere, Morpheus was watching. He hoped that he would realize his hopeless status because there was no way Alec would ever let go of Magnus. Not now, not ever. 

_“Now if we're talking body_  
_You got a perfect one_  
_So put it on me_  
_Swear it won't take you long_  
_If you love me right_  
_We fuck for life_  
_On and on and on…”_

~*~

For your listening pleasure, courtesy of Morpheus Wraith.

Morpheus’s Manor Playlist

_Talking Body by Tove Lo_  
_All Hands on Deck by Tinashe_  
_Bad Intentions by Niykee Heaton_  
_Worth It by Fifth Harmony_  
_Without You by Usher ft. David Guetta_  
_Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon_  
_Jungle by X Ambassadors_  
_Immortals by Fall Out Boy_  
_Where Are Ü Now by Skrillex and Diplo ft. Justin Bieber_  
_Going Down for Real by Flo Rida ft. Sage the Gemini_  
_Heroes (We Could Be) by Alesso Feat. Tove Lo_


	6. Downpour

Alec wasn’t completely sure how long they danced inside Morpheus’s manor. One song blurred into the next – punk, rock, techno, pop – and the flash of the lights created a hypnotic atmosphere of flailing limbs and ecstasy-riddled faces. Quite pleasantly, Alec didn’t see Morpheus for the rest of the night, and he could only hope that the host’s encounter beyond the ballroom with Magnus had been to thank. Magnus seemed in a positively fantastic mood; he was smiling and chatting, laughing with Jace and Isabelle and the others. He’d complimented Simon on his dancing, eliciting a rather flushed response from the boy, and asked Isabelle where she’d gotten her sheer, glittered tights. 

“Don’t worry,” Isabelle had responded with a wink. “We’ll go next weekend.” 

His foot slipped over the smooth stone of Morpheus’s front steps and Alec nearly went crashing into the paved pathway. A strong arm quickly snatched him up and brought him down the remaining three stairs.

“Jeeze, Alec,” Jace chuckled, a slight slur to his words. “And I thought I was smashed.” 

“You are,” Alec retorted with a sneer, to which Jace threw out a dismissing arm and stumbled after Clary. Luckily, she seemed to be in much better shape. Warm hands wrapped around Alec’s hips, gripping snuggly around his chest. He could see the purple tipped fingers and smell Magnus’s cologne, cinnamon and ginger. 

Magnus took a deep breath, “Nice night, isn’t it?” His breath tickled at Alec’s ear, making him laugh. 

“Is this your version of a pick-up line?” Alec asked as Magnus came around, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him down the sidewalk after the others. 

“Hardly!” the warlock replied with a wide, gleaming smile. “You’re already staying the night in my bed. I’m beyond tacky one-liners.”

“Hey now,” Simon called out from the head of their pack. “Don’t knock tacky one-liners. That’s half my vocabulary.”

“Only half?” Clary snickered and Simon playfully swung out at her. They strolled through the deserted streets of Queens, the moon bright overhead shining through the clouds like an enormous spotlight. It must have been well past four in the morning, but it would only take them twenty minutes to walk from the manor to Magnus’s loft in Brooklynn. As late as it was and as empty as the streets were, Alec didn’t feel even a flicker of discomfort. Four Shadowhunters, two warlocks, and a daylighter. Any demon or Downworlder would be suicidal to come after them. 

“You have such a great voice, Em!” Isabelle cried out from atop Simon’s back, her black stiletto boots clutched in hand as she leaned against his shoulder. She swung out her arm to grab hold of Emmeline’s, the warlock laughing as Simon nearly toppled over from Isabelle’s careless movements and the extra weight of her hold on Emmeline. 

“Yeah, and did you see that drummer’s set?” Simon interjected, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his long nose. “A Craviotto custom stacked! That’s a ten thousand dollar set!” Emmeline threw her head back and laughed.

“Tell you what, Simon,” she said swooping over to wrap her arm around his shoulders and, consequently, Isabelle’s. “Next time I see Aymen, I’ll tell him you want to touch his _set_. How’s that?” Laughter rang through the streets as Simon both vigorously nodded and viciously shook his head simultaneously. Jace nearly toppled to the street, leaning on Clary’s tiny frame to support him as they both doubled over with laughter. 

“You sing, you dance, you cast magic,” Clary shouted from under Jace’s embrace. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Emmeline feigned a pensive pout, narrowing her eyes before glancing back at Magnus. 

“Speak Greek?” she offered, then nodded. “Yeah, speak Greek. No, wait!” She threw up her hands, a wide smile on her face as she watched them all waiting in eager suspense. “ _Poté mi̱n pései sti̱n agápi̱ me mia pórni̱_.” Magnus burst out laughing, his lilt frame draping over Alec’s body as the rest laughed out of combined confusion and happy buzz. Thoroughly pleased, Emmeline fell in between Simon and Isabelle on her right and Jace and Clary on her left. The five of them strode on ahead as Alec and Magnus brought up the rear. 

Magnus wove his fingers through Alec’s, the flecks of glitter glimmering on both their hands. 

“Just so you know,” Magnus lowered his voice so only Alec could hear, the others’ laughter echoing ahead, “I always knew you could dance.” Alec scoffed.

“Oh really?” he replied, watching as Jace half-heartedly attempted to hoist himself onto Clary’s shoulders and face off against Izzy and Simon in a blacktop chicken fight. 

Magnus nodded confidently. Suddenly, he had disappeared from Alec’s side and was firmly in the way of his path, abruptly cutting him off and forcing him to stumble to a halt only inches from his smirking face. The others continued on ahead, unaware of the sudden standstill of two of their members, but Alec wasn’t worried. They weren’t moving very fast. 

After hours of dancing and laughter and drinks, Magnus’s purple spiked black hair was tousled and loose, the tight spikes falling soft and free alongside his face. Whether it was magic or glamour or just the warlock himself, Magnus’s caramel skin glistened with a thin sprinkling of sweat that sparkled in the moonlight. Even the smudged smears of his green and gold eyeshadow looked elegant and fashionable, his velvet housecoat hanging unbuttoned with the sheer blue shirt showing through to reveal a smooth and rigid torso. Mesmerizing. 

“Mind sharing how you were able to deduce this so accurately?” Alec smiled, eyes dancing over Magnus’s face, hovering on his smiling lips. Magnus slipped his hands onto Alec’s hips, looping his thumbs through the belt loops. 

“It’s _these_ ,” he gripped at Alec’s hips, drawing them up against his own. His voice had grown slow and thick, rumbling deep in his throat, and he eyed Alec from behind heavy lashes. “I’ve _seen_ you move them. I _know_ you can move them.” The back of Alec’s neck flushed with heat and a tingling shiver ran down his spine as Magnus dug his fingers into Alec’s hips, slowing grinding his own against them. Alec’s breath hitched in his chest and he laced his arms around Magnus’s waist, pulling him closer, until their noses brushed. Magnus tipped his head up and ran soft lips over Alec’s shaking jaw, slowly working his way down his neck. Each kiss felt like fire and frostbite and surging electricity. His already fuzzy vision blurred to splotches of fluttering light, each circle of light swelling with every touch of Magnus’s lips.

“We’re only a couple blocks from your place,” Alec muttered through trembling lips, his eyes fluttering open to spy on the others. They had not seemed to notice, yet. Smooth fingers gently gripped his face and brought him back, Magnus’s gold eyes glowing in the darkness as he trailed his fingers down to Alec’s chest. They were inches apart, nothing but Magnus’s sheer shirt and Alec’s ratty sweater dividing them. Magnus was beautiful; he was strong and graceful. The way he laughed made Alec’s blood rush, and the way he smiled when they were wrapped together in each other’s arms made Alec’s soul lift from his chest. And right now, in the dimly lit streets of Queens, the way he pressed his hips against Alec’s made his chest heave with fire. It felt like it would soon consume him and he would be all the happier to burn bright and glorious. 

His eyes stuttered and Alec leaned back to glare at Magnus. The warlock simply shook his head and jolted back as if struck in the face. At the same moment, they both looked to the clouds to see a sprinkling of rain falling from the dark night sky. Drop after drop splashed onto Alec’s upturned face and, as the rain began to pour down in refreshing sheets, he closed his eyes and smiled. Magnus’s laughter reached his ears as the warlock placed a hand on either side of Alec’s face and pulled him in, water pouring over their lips as they stood kissing in the rain. 

When they finally parted, startled and elated shrieks echoed down the street as Clary, Jace, Simon, Isabelle, and Emmeline twirled and ran in the downpour. Just like them, they were quickly soaked to the bone, and they ran through the puddles splashing and howling. Alec looked over to Magnus who watched the display with a sparkling smile. Suddenly, his golden eyes swelled and he pointed out through the rain.

“I see that!” he shouted at Emmeline, who stood amazingly dry in the center of the street. It was then that Alec spotted the transparent dome that seemed to surround her, keeping the rain at bay. In a moment, Magnus dashed through the rain and chased after her. 

“No no no!” Emmeline pleaded as she smiled and fled through the rain. Simon and Jace spotted her would-be escape and cut her off, forcing her to dash around them, but it was enough. Magnus sprinted around and snatched her up, his touch canceling the barrier and sending a tidal wave of rain crashing down on them. Emmeline shrieked and laughed as Magnus wrapped her up and swung her around, his velvet loafers soaked and slopping through the puddles. 

He watched them all, his sopping hair plastered to his face and his sweater soaked through to his goose-bumped skin. Despite it all, Alec didn’t care. Isabelle held her arms wide and guarded Simon, holding him back long enough that Clary was able to sneak up from behind and flip his rain-filled hood over his head with a splash. The two girls cheered their victory and skipped ungracefully through the rain, pointing toward Magnus’s building at the end of the next block. Alec started off down the street, following at his own leisurely pace and kicking his feet through the newly formed puddles. He’d let them rush ahead, get there first, throw the door open. He’d come along eventually. He liked the rain. 

A warm hand wrapped around his and he looked over to see Magnus smiling at him through hanging sheets of black and purple hair. They walked through the rain together for the last block before coming to the open front door; winded voices could be heard from up the stairs and a light glowed through Magnus’s landing door. He and Alec quickly stepped inside, closing the door against the barrage of rain. He could feel the chill seeping in as he looked down at his sagging sweater and squishing boots, rubbing his frozen fingers together. Magnus wrapped his around Alec’s and he felt a soothing warmth rush in, heating his aching fingers, as Magnus’s hands glowed with a faint orange light. 

He smiled up at him through black locks, resting his head against Magnus’s dripping forehead. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, his shoulders shaking from the cold. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus replied with a whisper. He leaned his head over Alec’s shoulder, his breath warming Alec’s neck. “ _Now, let’s get you out of those wet things_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't already see it...smut incoming. Next chapter.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Also, in case you were wondering what Emmeline said, the Greek translation from my friend is: "Never fall in love with a prostitute." Wise words. Thanks, Nick.


	7. Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, eh friends? Since I last posted, I've gotten engaged, graduated college, moved into a new apartment, and started my first real person job. But, with all the Shadowhunters updates coming out recently, I couldn't resist the urge to revisit my favorite TMI couple. 
> 
> As I promised, smut incoming.

Emmeline took her usual room, the secondary master’s suite at the far end of the hall. The interior was painted a rich, earthy sage and scattered with thick wooden furniture, the bed piled with green and cream and taupe pillows. A heavy and beautifully carved wooden desk sat in front of the window, draped with subtly flecked gold curtains, and the adjoining bathroom was painted a soothing sand. There was another guest room across the hall and the assorted couches in the living room. Alec supposed the others could sort out who got which. 

He had difficulty focusing on much of anything at the moment, that is, anything beyond the sensation of Magnus’s hand laced through his own as he gently pulled him down the dimly lit hallway. The kitchen disappeared behind them, along with Jace and Simon’s drunken bickering over the legitimacy of licorice as a classic movie theater snack. Apparently Clary and Isabelle had not found their reasoning to be stimulating and had disappeared into the guest room, agreeing that popcorn would forever be the ultimate movie theater munchie. For some reason, all Alec could think of was caramel popcorn, sweet and salty and delicious. 

Magnus opened the door to his room and quickly shut it behind them with little more than a whisper. Before Alec could even turn around, Magnus was on top of him. His sweater was pulled over his head and tossed to the floor in a hasty pile as Magnus trailed kisses down his neck and the hallow of his throat, his skilled hands pulling the belt from Alec’s pants in a single swift movement. Its buckle clanged against the hardwood floors as Alec scrambled to undo the buttons of Magnus’s sheer blue blouse, the silky fabric slippery in his sweaty and rain-soaked fingers. 

Finally, with a little assistance, Alec freed Magnus of his shirt and it fluttered to the floor, strong, smooth muscles wrapping around him and easing him toward the four-post bed. Alec let his eyes flicker shut to the sensation of Magnus’s tender and careful kisses, but they quickly flipped back open. 

“Magnus, the door,” Alec gasped through parted lips. A sliver of light pierced the darkness of the bedroom, leaking in from the kitchen where Jace and Simon were now popping microwave popcorn. He wasn’t eager for any visitors tonight. 

Suddenly, Alec was thrown back on the bed, flopping in amongst a mountain of pillows and sheets. Magnus stood before him, shoulders heaving with each fevered breath as he eyed Alec from a distance. Running a long-fingered hand through his mussed hair, Magnus smirked and raised his fingers. He snapped and the door clicked shut, followed by the distinct latching of the lock. Alec’s eyes swelled, but he looked back at Magnus with a pleased and impressed smile. 

Magnus kicked off his damp magenta loafers and strode toward him, placing a hand on each of Alec’s shoulders to lower him down to the bed. Alec’s breath roared in his ears as Magnus slowly brought his lips down against his chest and stomach, making his way down to pull off his battered boots and toss them to the corner with a thump. Soon, Magnus was perched over him, gold eyes flashing in the darkness as he placed a leg on either side of Alec’s hips. Already, Alec arched up at him, cursing at the tattered remains that were his pants. He noticed, with a disappointed sigh, that Magnus’s trousers also remained. He shoved his thumbs into the silky waistband and pulled.

“Off,” he mumbled between feverish kisses, his lips brushing over Magnus’s ear. The warlock raised a hand, ready to snap off the troublesome garment, when Alec wrapped his fingers around Magnus’s wrist. Magnus looked down at him, a confused look in his golden eyes. His confusion only grew as Alec swiftly threw him down, flipping himself up to loom over the warlock. His confusion gave way to satisfied desperation as Alec worked his way down, undoing the buttons of Magnus’s trousers and carefully pulling them off.

Tossing aside the silk trousers, Alec quickly pounced back atop Magnus, preventing him from gaining the upper hand, and wrapped his hands around the warlock’s wrists, yanking them up above his head and pinning them to the sheets. He poured layer after layer of hot kisses over his caramel skin, feeling as Magnus’s torso arched up with each kiss. When he finally made his way back up, Alec moved his way along Magnus’s collarbone and neck. 

“You seem famished, darling,” Magnus purred in his ear. Even Alec could hear the smile in his voice, the confidence, the arrogance. Alec’s mouth opened and he bite down on Magnus’s shoulder, eliciting a wave of moans. His fingers dug into Magnus’s restrained wrists, loosening only slightly as Alec came up for a breath. 

“It’s hard to hold back,” he explained, chest heaving with strained gasps, and met Magnus’s smiling eyes, “when you’ve been fucking with me since we got to the party.” Magnus’s smirk deepened, a satisfied gleam spread across his shimmering face. Alec let his head drop forward as he tried to regain a sliver of control. “I mean, you’ve always been eager to please, but -”

“Alexander,” Magnus interrupted, drawing Alec’s attention. Magnus had fallen still, his arms slack against Alec’s grip, and he looked up at him with a plainly blunt expression. There was something else behind his golden eyes, something fiery and ancient, a whisper of what he truly was. “I’d let you chain me up and whip me if that would please you.”

He could feel his heart pound in his chest, pumping wave after wave of boiling blood from fingertips to toes. Alec looked down at Magnus’s body, the way it was laid out before him exposed and vulnerable, bare and open. His caramel skin was smooth and soft, unblemished. Images flashed before his eyes – digging nails, biting teeth, strained muscles, white knuckles…gags, blindfolds, restraints. Alec sucked in a hurried breath, his back easing from the building tension. He met Magnus’s waiting gaze and leaned forward, placing a myriad of heavy and soft kisses on his sweet lips. 

“Maybe next time,” he mumbled, pulling away. Magnus didn’t seem disappointed; he seemed far more excited, both for what was about to happen and what may happen later. 

Magnus was always one for touch; no matter how many times they tumbled through the sheets of his massive four-post bed, Magnus had a seemingly lifeblood desire to touch and be touched. When they’d first locked themselves away in Magnus’s master suite – a day that Alec would not soon forget – Magnus had insisted on being in constant contact with Alec, from feverish beginnings to breathless ends. If Alec was being completely honest, he’d been unabashedly grateful. It had made his first time warm and soft and close. Much like now.

Alec had been infected by Magnus’s touch, the constant need to know just who was wrapped around him and, as he ran his hands across Magnus’s smooth form, he knew exactly who it was. He would know him blind. He would know him deaf. He would know him only by touch alone. 

With a smooth tug, Magnus freed a hand from Alec’s grasp and yanked him down, the tips of his purple-painted nails digging into Alec’s bare hips. Alec’s breath caught in his throat, muffled by a strained groan as he crumbled to his elbow, bringing him that much closer to Magnus’s desperate kisses. 

“You alright, darling?” Magnus hummed in his ear. Alec moaned a hasty response, pressing his gasping mouth into the curve of Magnus’s neck. “You know,” Magnus mumbled as Alec moved, “I always did like these.” A loud crack echoed through the room and Alec’s free hand flew to his waist, a slight tingle where Magnus had snapped the elastic of his boxers. He glared up at Magnus. 

“What?” Magnus replied with a grin. 

Alec threw himself into Magnus, swiftly and effectively silencing the smirking warlock. It was frustrating how collected Magnus could be when they were together, even with just one piece of clothing remaining between them. No matter how fast or heavy or heated their actions became, somehow Magnus managed to slip out a clever quip, always had that last word. No more. 

Alec laced his arm behind Magnus’s knees and heaved, sliding Magnus’s lilt frame up across the sheets to the headboard where his head unceremoniously collided with the tufted fabric. Magnus’s face pinched in displeasured and he made to rub his irritated head, but Alec quickly snatched his hands and pinned them to the bed, holding them and the rest of Magnus down with his own dense weight. Magnus looked up at through heavy lids, yellow eyes giving off a faint glow in the darkness. 

“I’m sick of that mouth of yours,” Alec growled through clenched teeth. There was a flash of uncertainty in Magnus’s eyes, but only for a moment before his usual confidence threatened to return. His smooth lips parted, throat hitching with a ready pun, when Alec sealed them shut, his scarred thumb crossing a fierce line from top lip to bottom and making Magnus’s eyes swell. 

“I said,” Alec snarled, wrapping his fingers around Magnus’s jaw, “I’m sick of that mouth. Not another word.” Magnus’s chest heaved beneath Alec, his breath quick and shallow. For the first time in his life Alec felt strong, in control, dominant. He felt like an entirely different person. Magnus, however, was every bit his arrogant self. His eyes flashed with mischief as Alec removed his manmade muzzle. 

“Or what?” the warlock sneered. 

He’d have thought there was a fresh speed rune burning on his back with how quickly he moved. Alec snatched his abandoned belt from the floor and, with little less than two seconds, wrapped up Magnus’s wrists, proficiently binding him to the headboard. In only two seconds more Alec was on him, kissing, licking, biting, thrusting. Each movement – each perfectly timed, perfectly placed movement – brought with it a new burn of heat within Alec and a wave of sounds from Magnus. But not another word. 

Magnus seemed more than happy to tolerate the belt, but eventually his sweet and desperate pleas were too much for even Alec to bare. 

“Alec…” Magnus moaned through fraught breath. “Alec, please. Please.”

He ignored him again and again, went back again and again, watched as Magnus’s back arched up and his wrists pulled tight against the leather belt. Blue sparks shot from his fingers more than once and spiraled up into the dark, draped canopy to sparkle like stars. Alec dug his nails into his caramel skin, leaving vibrant red traces. 

“Please,” Magnus whispered, his voice falling weak and faint. His hands hung limp against the headboard, his legs motionless across the sheets, his eyelids heavy with glitter and exhausted resignation. “Please…”

Alec reached up, trailing his hand along the smooth lines of Magnus’s fluttering chest, and grasped the belt’s end. He placed a single sweet, slow kiss to Magnus’s temple and pulled it free in one swift movement. 

Released at last, Magnus lay still on the bed, the faint rise and fall of his breath his only movement. Alec had no need for the belt anymore. The plush pillows of the bed sank beneath his hands as Alec crawled step by step to loom over Magnus, studying each inch of his bare body. Tousled purple-tipped locks lay strewn across his glistening face, his dark brows pinched in the same frustrated expression, but fare less intense. Alec watched as Magnus’s lips parted and closed. He leaned down, bringing his mouth to Magnus’s ear.

“What was that?” he murmured, letting his bare chest brush across Magnus’s. He laid a cautionary hand across Magnus’s wrist, squeezing only slightly as a subtle reminder. “I couldn’t hear you,” Alec mocked, placing a burning kiss on the hollow of Magnus’s throat. The warlock’s lips parted, his jaw trembled, and a tiny breath of air rustled Alec’s hair. “What was that?” Alec repeated, running his lip along the soft, bristled cheek. It brought his ear right to Magnus’s whimpering mouth at just the moment the words slipped out. 

_“I’ll be good.”_

Alec’s heart pounded in his chest; his breath roared in his ears. For a moment, his arms wavered beneath him, but he quickly locked his elbows. Exactly what he wanted to hear. 

“Exactly,” he whispered in Magnus’s ear. It was all Magnus needed, a one-word release from his restraint. He threw himself at Alec, wrapping his long arms around his back to eliminate the sliver of space between them, and Alec was pulled to the sheets, lost in the hurricane of limbs and hot kisses and clutching hands. 

Whatever meager clothing remained was gone in an instant and Alec reveled in the feeling of Magnus beneath him, smooth and stiff and soft to the touch. He leaned his forehead against Magnus’s, feeling the heat pouring off in radiating waves, as he pressed forward. Soft and sweet, Magnus wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck, offered himself up without hesitation. Alec dug his fingers into the silky sheets, gripping them tight in his fists as pounding blood raced through his body. Drums in his head, beating in his chest, Magnus’s breath on his neck. Alec couldn’t hold back any longer. 

“Magnus,” he muttered against the pillow. Magnus snatched his hand from the sheet and slammed it against his bare hip. 

“Do it,” he placed a shaking hand on either side of Alec’s face, threading his tense fingers through the dark locks and gripping tight. “Do it now.” 

Alec resisted, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Magnus’s hip. Magnus groaned in his ear, half moan, half growl, and Alec could sympathize, but he wouldn’t give in. He pressed his hand obstinately against Magnus’s hip, unwavering. 

At last, Magnus murmured, _“Please.”_

Alec finally moved his hand as he pressed forward. 

Having a warlock in bed had more than a few perks. Sound dampening, for one. Increased senses, another. Alec was grateful for both, though he doubted the second was even necessary. The bolts of electricity surging through his veins were enough to set him ablaze, even without assistance from Magnus. Blood and lighting and burning heat. Alec’s entire body struggled to contain it all, and failed. It shot through him from hips to toes, chest to hands, and he collapsed on top of Magnus, the skin between them warm and wet. 

He wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, or how long it had been since Magnus first locked the door. He doubted anyone outside their room had even noticed their quick departure and subsequent absence, either distracted by salty snacks or sweeter treats elsewhere. Regardless, Alec couldn’t care less. He begrudgingly peeled himself from Magnus’s grasp and retreated to the attached bathroom, shooting a glance back to see Magnus nestle his face into a pile of pillows. The bathroom door clicked against the frame, bouncing back as Alec turned the sink knob. He splashed his face with lukewarm water from the tap before gargling a mouthful and spitting it down the drain. Eyes dripping with water, he fumbled for the hand towel and reopened the bathroom door. 

“Well, now,” Magnus’s voice reached him. Alec wiped the last of the water from his eyes to find Magnus staring at him from the bed, an entirely pleased expression on his mussed face. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Alec laughed, a faint heat rising in his cheeks once he realized his bareness. 

“Yeah, well,” he ran a hand through his tousled hair, “You’re to blame.” Magnus’s smile only grew more pleased and Alec flung the towel at his irritating smirk, satisfied when it pelted him dead on. 

“Darling, if taking the blame is all it takes to get _you_ ,” he motioned to Alec’s bare body, “like _that_ – well, then. Consider me guilty.” Alec plopped on the bed next to him, snatching a pillow that had fallen to the floor and wedging it behind his head. Magnus was immediately upon him, nestling into the crook of his shoulder and wrapping his arms around Alec’s waist, one leg draped across Alec’s. 

This was the time he loved the most. Quiet, undisturbed, without worry. Alec didn’t have to think about missions or training or The Clave or his father. Every mindless concern drifted out the window once Magnus was lying by his side. 

“I’m exhausted,” Magnus mumbled, reaching down for the covers. Alec glanced down at his shimmering body.

“Shouldn’t you clean up?” he asked as Magnus waved a hand to dismiss the lights. He snapped his fingers once before curling in.

“There,” he sighed, snuggling against Alec. He was so warm, and Alec had run out of tasks. He sank into the plush bedding and allowed himself to drift away, the smell of cinnamon and rosewater following him into his dreams.


	8. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one here, more like a follow-up to the last chapter. Figured you all deserved a little extra after the enormous drought I put you through. More to come later.

There’s always a distinct burn in the eyes after a late night of ill-mannered frivolities, as if your very eyes are blistering from the collective horrors they only just recently witnessed. It’s like punishment for staying up past your body’s preferred bedtime. And Clary’s body was not pleased.

 _It was only three drinks_ , she moaned to herself as she hesitantly blinked her eyes open. A thin stream of light sliced across the center of the room, drawing a line across Clary and Izzy’s strew legs. Izzy had only managed to kick off her shredded leather pants before dive-bombing the bed, bouncing a good two feet into the air, the pillows a good three. Now she lay serenely still, dark locks spread around her head like black water. Clary rubbed at her eyes, feeling the satisfying cool of her fingertips against the burning skin, and her stomach growled. She gripped the baggy fabric of her oversized Guggenheim sweatshirt in an attempt to silence the growing void, and perhaps her ravenous hunger conjured the smell of fresh coffee. Like a zombie, she hobbled to the bedroom door and stumbled into the open hallway. 

Definitely coffee. She wasn’t imagining this time. Running her stiff hand along the wall, Clary guided her way to the kitchen, grateful that someone had thought to close at least one of the curtains last night. A strangely uncharacteristic, warm glow filled the open studio, instead of the expected blast of bright morning sun. It took no time for Clary’s eyes to adjust. 

Two figures lingered at the kitchen counter, Jace leaning against the flecked marble top and Simon face-down into the stone, both arms propped beneath his head. There was a clang of dishes as Emmeline emerged from the stove with a skillet full of pancakes. 

“Morning, sunshine,” the warlock smiled, motioning for Clary to join them. She stumbled forward and slid onto the free barstool beside Simon, poking him with a wobbly finger to confirm his continued existence. He waved her off without even lifting his head. 

“Your boy seems to be dragging his feet this morning,” Jace muttered as he glanced at Simon, a tempting cup of steaming coffee between his hands. As if sensing her longing, Emmeline slid a mug into her hands. Clary smiled and sighed simultaneously. 

“You’re the night owl,” she mumbled into the rim of her mug. “Not him.” A sizzling skillet of eggs was plopped onto the kitchen island.

“Order up,” Emmeline smiled, bringing forth a stack of plates and a fistful of forks. “Magnus!” she shouted down the hallway, “Food’s ready!” A door clicked open and conversation quickly transferred to eager requests and muffled thanks. 

“This is fantastic, Emmeline,” Clary mumbled through a mouthful of pancake, her stomach sufficiently sated with carbs and caffeine. 

“Seriously, though,” Simon reiterated after separating himself from the counter. He reached for another plate and flipped a pancake on, placing it in front of the stool to his left. 

“Good morning!” Izzy smiled from the hallway, quickly dashing over to place a kiss on Simon’s temple and snatch up her breakfast. Her face turned sad. “Aw, Emmie,” she pouted. “Why didn’t you wait? I could have helped you.” Both Jace and Simon sprouted positively terrified expressions, drawing their plates closer as if to protect them from Isabelle’s menace. She didn’t seem to notice and happily set to sipping her coffee. 

“ _Jeeze_ ,” a shadowed voice muttered from the hall. Clary glanced over to see Alec and Magnus stumble in. Magnus had donned his signature silk housecoat, a pair of matching slippers on his feet. Alec’s sweater hung half off his shoulder, and Clary could have sworn she saw a slight discoloration, red and pink. “Is there anything left?” Alec asked, eyeing Jace and Simon’s overflowing plates. 

Emmeline chuckled and revealed two amply stocked plates, complete with steaming coffee. 

“That’s the risk you take when you’re the last to get up,” she told them with a smirk, handing off a plate to Alec. He slurred his thanks and grabbed the pancake with his hand, ripping away half of it in one bite. Magnus swooped in and took the remaining plate and mug from Emmeline, placing an endearing kiss on her forehead. 

“Aren’t you going to eat something, Emmeline?” Clary asked, spying six half-eaten breakfasts. Emmeline smiled and placed a plate on the counter, a small pancake and pile of eggs at its center, as she took a sip from her coffee. 

“When did you make that?” Simon gaped, looking down at the three pancakes piled on his own plate. 

“I’ve learned not to question Emmeline’s cooking,” Magnus explained, draping a relaxed arm around Alec’s shoulders as the shadowhunter devoured another pancake. “She mutters spells in her sleep sometimes. I woke up one morning and found the walls covered in honey. Don’t know how she managed that. It did make our morning scones much tastier, though.” Emmeline nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“What,” Jace asked, scooping up another spoonful of eggs, “No sticky wrestling?” Magnus smirked.

“I’m a warlock,” he replied, eyes flashing in the rising sun. “Not a porn star. Easy mistake.” Simon choked on his pancake, much to Izzy’s dismay, but Clary could see a small smile on Alec’s downturned face.


	9. Pattaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, and I definitely apologize. Especially since several of you have mentioned how much you want to read more. So! A little taste of another installment in this series. This starts an arc of sorts, a little something to reward your dedication to a pretty unstable one-shot series. Enjoy!

Alec’s date with Magnus wasn’t for a few hours, so he was surprised when Magnus’s contact image flashed up on his phone – the warlock proudly displaying a bedazzled and hatted Church, much to the poor cat’s displeasure. He pressed the small green icon and held the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, Magnus,” he mumbled, pulling a tattered blue sweater over his head. The Institute was colder than usual today and he couldn’t resist the urge to pull on layer after layer when clumps of sleety snow had started to plop against the window. “I thought we weren’t on until six.” 

“Have you heard from Emmeline?” Magnus’s strained voice came through hurried and jumbled. 

“Emmeline?” Alec repeated. “No, I haven’t. Did she skip out on a coffee date? She has to do that sometimes, Magnus. Caterina needs more help at the hospital during the winters.” 

“I already called Caterina,” Magnus replied, a tense edge to his voice, “and she hasn’t seen Emmeline in three days, not since the last time she was at the hospital.” Alec finally wrestled his head through the neck of his sweater and pushed a sleeve down his arm.

“Well, hasn’t she been staying at your place?” Alec asked, thinking of the squeaky air mattress wedged between two couches and a coffee table. 

“She stays with Caterina after late nights at the hospital,” Magnus replied, and Alec could hear the concern in his voice, “and she’s got her own apartment in Queens, of course, but I’ve checked both of those. And the hospital, and Taki’s, and the dance studio. She’s not answering her phone and she always answers for me.” 

“Are you sure she isn’t just busy, Magnus?” Alec attempted to calm him, though he couldn’t deny the flutter of his own heart. “She’s a High Warlock, too. She could’ve taken a job and not told you.”

“She always tells me everything,” Magnus barked back, a dark growl to his voice. There was a dead silence on the line before he spoke again, “I’m sorry, Alec. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just worried.”

“It’s alright. You’re allowed to worry,” Alec responded, pulling the phone from his ear and putting it on speaker. Magnus’s voice filled his bedroom as he scrolled through his phone’s log. According to the device, Alec hadn’t heard from Emmeline in over a week. No texts or calls. “Did you call Cordelia?” Alec asked, thinking of the chemical engineering faerie from the dance studio. 

“She hasn’t seen her either,” Magnus replied, a slight shake to his voice. “Emmeline hasn’t been showing up to rehearsals.” Alec closed the door of his dresser and grabbed the seraph blade from its place on the wall. 

“Alright, come to the Institute,” he told Magnus as he opened the door and walked down the hall toward Jace and Isabelle’s rooms. “I’m sure this is nothing, Magnus. I’m sure she’ll call soon.”

~*~

Clary and Isabelle were sitting cross-legged on the center of Jace’s bed, rumpling the pristine crispness of his sheets, though he didn’t seem to mind. He stood casually against the wall, twirling a stele between his fingers while Simon looked on with a mixture of disdain and veiled fascination. 

“I’ll admit,” Izzy said, holding her hands up in surrender, “it’s a bit weird that she hasn’t answered her phone, but Em is a busy person. And there’s no need to worry. I doubt anyone could ever get a leg up on her.” 

Alec had to agree, but something inside his chest burned with an insistence that couldn’t be ignored. Something didn’t feel right. He phone buzzed from inside his pocked and he pulled it out, seeing the message lighting up the screen. 

“Magnus is here,” he said and made for the door. The others followed behind at a lazy pace, lagging behind until Alec could barely hear their voices. They were far behind when Alec arrived at the Institute door and heaved it open. 

Frigid winter wind swept through the doorway and spilled into the sanctuary, threatening to douse the long tapers flickering along the aisle. Alec brushed the snow from his eyes and looked up to see Magnus standing in the doorway, his caramel face twisted with worry. 

“Magnus, what’s wrong?” Alec asked, reaching out to wrap a hand around his and pull him inside. Even without the winter cold, Magnus’s hand was shaking. The others had finally arrive, their boisterous voices echoing across the arched ceilings of the church, but they quickly quieted upon seeing Magnus’s expression. 

“Did something happen?” Izzy asked, rushing forward to stand at Alec’s side. Magnus lifted his head to meet Alec’s eyes and Alec knew that something had. 

“Caterina called me,” he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Three more warlocks are missing.”

“Missing?” Jace pushed his way forward, his hand gripping his seraph blade. Alec ignored him and took Magnus’s other hand in his, holding them tightly as he pulled him further into the sanctuary. 

“Calder Ash,” Magnus said as Alec sat him in the closest pew, taking the spot next to him, “and Ewan Trace. Caterina hasn’t been able to contact either of them, or Marjorie Gale. It’s not normal for warlocks to ignore urgent messages. We can be selfish at times, but we’re not cruel. They’d never ignore Caterina’s messages if they knew Emmeline was in danger.” 

“Is it possible they’re all just…really busy?” Simon offered, fiddling nervously with the hem of his faded t-shirt. There was a collective sigh from their group as Clary tried to assure Simon, but Alec ignored them and turned his full attention to Magnus.

“Did you try to track her?” he asked. “A trace, a spell, anything?”

“You can’t track a warlock, Alec,” Izzy corrected him. Alec knew, but he was desperate to give Magnus a twinge of hope. Magnus shook his head. 

“I can’t reach her,” he said dismally, “even with our bangles.” He held up his arm to reveal the thin gold band around his wrist, one half of a matched set the two warlocks wore. “Something’s wrong,” Magnus let his hand fall to his lap and Alec quickly laced his fingers through it. 

“We’ll talk to the faeries,” Izzy proclaimed, “and the vampires and the werewolves. I can get a hold of Mia. Cordelia can ask her contacts, and Clary can call Luke. We’ll figure out what’s going on. Don’t you worry, Magnus.” Isabelle was always confident, always convinced that any situation could be settled by the crack of her whip. Generally, that was all it took, either to sever a demon in two or bring a man to his knees, but Alec knew better. This was different, and he squeezed Magnus’s hands tighter. 

~*~

Snow fell in sheets from the sky, dusting the trees and hills with a faint and glimmering coat, like a sheet of diamonds glittering from horizon to horizon. It was a beautiful night, one not seen in centuries, serene in its silence and stillness, but she could not stop to enjoy it. They were coming. 

She propelled herself through the trees, ducking around branches and dodging trunks with the controlled agility of a panther, but still they pursued. Portal after portal, jump after jump they remained, and Emmeline was losing energy. Any other pursuer could have been done away with in the blink of an eye, but these ones were strong, stronger than most, and Emmeline could feel their twisted magic lashing out at her from behind. _Faster._

She stumbled for a moment and bashed her shoulder into a ragged trunk. Her hand gripped tighter around her wrist, blocking the magic that was attempting to come through, and she cursed. Eight times now he’d tried to contact her, each time with more intensity, but she continued to block him out. For a moment she had considered abandoning the bangle, burying it in the snow so they couldn’t find it, but Emmeline couldn’t bring herself to part with it, despite the risk it posed to Magnus should she be captured. Instead she pressed on, their breath at her back.

There was no time now. They had nearly caught her and Emmeline had built up as much magic as she could muster. She dug her feet into the snow and catapulted herself forward. 

The hill vanished beneath her feet and Emmeline went flying through the air, soaring over treetops as the world slowed and froze around her. The moon was full in the sky, casting its milky white rays over the wooded landscape in a stark contrast, and she hung in the balance, suspended like a drop of water. The horizon buckled in front of her and she felt the air thicken before she was sucked forward, the world pulled to a single pinpoint. 

Emmeline collided with the ground, her knees crying out in pain as she rolled to the side. The air was thick with moisture, the sound of rain sputtering all around her, and she wiped at the sweat on her forehead. It was thinner now, mixed with water, and her pants were wet, soaked through as she slopped in the gutter. Her breath rattled her ears, echoing within the confines of her skull as she sucked down desperate air. She managed to drag herself beneath the overhang, small as it was, and crumbled against the alley wall.

Stars spun in her eyes and darkness surged at the edges of her vision as her hands shook. Her legs sprawled out in front of her, beyond the building’s cover, and were slowly being soaked through, but Emmeline didn’t have the energy to move them. Nor did she have the energy to heal the giant gashes on her palms. She held them in her lap, watching as the blood spilled over onto her thighs. Slowly, her silver marks expanded, grew, and reached for her wound, but their spread was shaky and sluggish, and they only managed to cover part of the injury before retreating. Still, the pain had subsided. 

Emmeline huddled in the corner, wedged between the brick wall of her favorite Pattayan restaurant and the dumpster that held its nightly rejects. Magnus had brought her here when she was younger and showed her how to mix her rice at just the right time so it wasn’t too soggy or too bland. It was closed now, the moon far overhead signaling at least two in the morning. 

“Damn,” she mumbled as a trickle of tears escaped her eyes. She slammed them shut and cradled the arm that held her bangle. “I could’ve really gone for some _khao kha mu_.”


	10. Bonus: Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't follow along the current timeline at all, but I felt like writing something a bit more dramatic. Just a little fun. I'll continue to add in the additional chapters before this one. It'll just keep getting pushed to the end.

Weapons collided and explosions crashed all around, their light filling the bloodstained sky with splashes of crimson and sapphire. A fume of careening smoke flew past Alec’s head, spiked and slimy limbs lashing out from within the blacked cloud. He thrust his _wakizashi_ upward and pierced the creature’s jugular, rancid bile spilling to the ground as the demon crashed into a crumbling stone wall. There were so many that even if each Shadowhunter and Downworlder killed a hundred each they would never come out alive. Alec lashed out at a Forsaken that had lumbered near, cutting its tendons and watching as three Shadowhunters flew forward, burying their blades in its back. It fell to the ground with a thunderous blow and began to rot away. 

Alec tumbled to the side, back to the wall as he surveyed the battle. His parents were nearby, fighting back to back, blades dripping with blood and ichor. Isabelle could be seen through the wreckage, silver whip slicing through the dark air like a bolt of lightning. With each stroke she brought it around, drawing a circle in the air around her body and driving back the demon horde, but there were dozens lunging at her. There was no way she could handle them all.

Propelling himself off the wall, Alec charged through the crowds, severing limb after limb from writhing demon form as he made for his sister’s side. The demons had closed in on her and her arms were laced with bleeding lines. 

“Isabelle!” Alec yelled. Her head snapped to him, dark braids whipping around her neck. He could see the terror in her eyes, the fear that gripped them both. Alec dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the blow of a Forsaken and taking out its knees, before leaping to Isabelle’s side. 

“Watch your back!” Izzy screamed, grabbing Alec by the neck and throwing him down as a Spider demon’s spiked needle went singing past. From nowhere, Mia and two other of her pack had appeared beside them, tearing the heads and limbs from demons, black blood trailing down their necks. For the moment it seemed they had the high ground. 

But apparently, not for long. A swarm of insectoid demons grew near, far more than they could fend off, and their scratching hum grinded on his brain. He drew his _katana_ and _wakizashi_ , holding them before him like a glimmering barricade, preparing for the inevitable onslaught. 

Suddenly, a firm hand dug into his shoulder and drug him back. Vision swimming, all Alec could see was a swatch of dark locks and the blinding sheen of metallic light. Emmeline. Her face was twisted with fierce rage, a darkness in her eyes like that of a bloodthirsty raptor. His own heart pounded at the shocking sight, unnerved by her murderous intent. 

“ _Stay back_ ,” her voice was dark and rumbling as she raised two glowing hands. Ripples of green light pulsed out from her palms with growing intensity until the entire sky seemed to glow with emerald shine. Her chocolate locks whipped back from her face and the silver lines of her Marks throbbed across the plains of her face as green light solidified around them like a protective shield. Just as the demons lunged Emmeline thrust her hands forward, green light tossing them back like mosquitos against a windshield. 

His ears were ringing and his vision swimming as Alec fought to reclaim his senses. Once he did, he could see that, not far from them, the rest of the alliance was on the verge of being slaughtered. Alec’s eyes swelled when he caught sight of his parents. They, too, were surrounded, but at least a dozen other Shadowhunters and twenty more Downworlders were with them, fighting the horde back with impressive ferocity. A flash of steel caught his gaze and Alec watched as Jia Penhallow fought back the surrounding horde. With her short sword and dagger, she was gravely outmatched and, even if he sprouted wings and flew to her, he could not reach her in time. Still, he sprinted toward her, pushing through the crowd. 

The world seemed to move in pointless slow motion, his feet dragging like stones in the mud. Nasreen Chaudhury was with her, but there was little only two Shadowhunters could do when faced with such opposition. The two women were moments from death. 

A streak of light tore past Alec and he fumbled to maintain his footing in the sloshing mud underfoot. Eyes dashing frantically, he tried to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure, but found nothing. Finally, looking back to Jia and Nasreen, he found it. A tremendous mutated hellhound lumbered near as a pulsating center of green light resolutely planted itself between the two Shadowhunters and the beast. 

Alec could see Magnus across the clearing, his blue magic shining even from this distance, but the warlock was too far to come to his sister’s aid. He didn’t yet seem to notice the scene that was unfolding before Alec’s eyes and Alec shouted his name through the chaos, desperate to gain the warlock’s help. Just as Magnus’s gold eyes met his, Alec heard the sound of vibrating energy. 

Emmeline threw her hands out, an electrifying green shield radiating from her fingers, and met the creature’s mace-like tail. It crashed into her defense and spiderwebbed the green light like glass, but Emmeline held fast. Drawing one hand back, fingers stiff like a point and engulfed with power, she threw forth a glowing spearhead the size of a motorcycle just as the hellhound charged forward once more. 

Light met rotting flesh as the shattering of glass echoed through the clearing and Alec watched in horrified amazement as Emmeline’s green spear plunged into the mutant hellhound’s chest. His voice leapt in his throat with premature celebration, eyes darting to Magnus who watched from afar, but soon his cries turned to heart wrenching terror as the creature’s spiked tail collided with Emmeline’s undefended chest. The warlock was thrown back and her body smashed into a massive stone wall with a sickening slap, her limbs falling limp like a rag doll. 

“NO!” Magnus’s voice tore through the battle, drawing the attention of Shadowhunters, Downworlders, and demons alike. He threw out his arms and filled the clearing with blinding violet light. Alec’s hands flew to his ears, blades tumbling to the ground as his skull rattled and rang. All around his comrades did the same, shielding themselves from the warlock’s onslaught as cobalt light burned and scorched demon after demon. They hissed and howled and fled, those that could, while the rest fell to the ground and writhed with agonizing screams until their bodies were nothing more than sizzling bile. 

When the light finally abated, small trails of blood trickled from Alec’s ringing ears and he scrambled to survey the scene. The horde was nothing more than piles of decomposing filth. Magnus had done it. He had saved them all. The rest of the alliance seemed to collectively crumple at the joyous realization, blades and axes and fists raised to the air with a chorus of exhausted cheers, but Alec did not join them. Nor did Isabelle or Jace. They all looked to the wall where a dark stain of crimson poisoned the stone, its trails dripping down to an undeniable end. 

His muscles were burning, his bones shattered, his skin stinging, but Alec surged with renewed energy as he sprinted through the crowd, faces of the alliance turning to watch him go. He could not possibly know, but one by one their faces turned from joy to sorrow as they saw the scene to which he ran. Across the way, Magnus mirrored him in stride, pushing aside Nephilim and Downworlder alike with equal force and garnering their attention with each stride. All had seen what she did, drawn by her emerald light, and now all watched as Magnus skidded to a halt. 

Jia and Nasreen moved aside, their blood splattered faces frozen in sickened realization. Magnus fell to the ground beside her crumpled form, his body doubled over hers and his hands shaking uselessly in front of him. Alec had never seen him so utterly horrified, so painfully hopeless. His gold eyes swelled with shock and tears as he wrapped caramel hands around Emmeline’s broken limbs.

“Emmeline,” he muttered her name, taking her face in his hand, tilting it to reveal line upon line of dripping blood. “Emmeline,” his voice came clearer now, harsher, scratching. “Come now, Emmeline. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this. Not now.” The warlock didn’t stir, her eyes still firmly shut from when she’d been thrown back against the wall, a splash of crimson dripping down the stone and beginning to pool on the ground below. Alec stepped forward, sliding his blade into the sheath on his hip as he knelt down a few feet from Magnus and Emmeline’s bodies. He was shaking now, rocking back and forth on the ground with Emmeline in his arms. “Somebody help me,” Magnus called out, but no one moved. Not Jia or Nasreen, Isabelle or Jace, Mia or Luke, his parents or any of the Clave. Alec knew why, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to say it aloud. Magnus’s eyes became fevered and snapped up to the crowd, the gold filled with rage and sorrow. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!” 

Not a soul stirred, save Clary, who pulled the stele from her pocket and lunged forward. A strong arm shot out to hold her back, but Jace never met her gaze. He could only shake his head.

“It’s no use,” he murmured and Clary looked up at him, stele still glowing in hand. His eyes flashed toward the two warlocks. “Runes won’t work now.”

“ _Somebody help me!_ ” Magnus’s voice rang through the city, the very buildings echoing with the howl. Clary ripped free of Jace’s grasp.

“You know what I can do!” she snapped at him, eyes filled with fire. “It won’t be a normal rune. I have to try.” Without waiting for Jace’s response, Clary raced past Alec and fell down beside Magnus and Emmeline. The warlock looked up hesitantly, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“Magnus,” Clary touched the hand that had wrapped around Emmeline’s bleeding torso. He met her gaze. “Let me try,” she pleaded. “Please let me try.” At first, Magnus seemed unsure of the offer, looking down at Emmeline with a fierce protectiveness, but this soon gave way to fear and he vigorously nodded his head, the gold hoops in his ears jingling. One had been ripped out. 

Clary brought forth her stele, mumbling its name before laying Emmeline’s right arm palm up to the night sky. The entire Conclave looked on, dozens of Shadowhunters watching as one of their own was about to perform an act that had been, for as long as any of them had even known, illegal. Marking a Downworlder. Illegal, yes, and potentially lethal as well, but, for some reason, no one moved to stop her. The stele tip met Emmeline’s skin and smoking tendrils rose to the sky as Clary bent over in fevered focus, dragging the stele along Emmeline’s arm with a crazed determination. Alec caught a glimpse of the rune, but he did not recognize it. Not an _iratze_ , something else. Something far more potent, and he saw Clary’s lips moving. 

“ _Save_ ,” she was muttering under her breath with each stroke of the stele. “ _Save, save, save…_ ” The stele fell loose in her hand as Clary sat back, the fresh rune smoking in the night air. _Save_. Alec had never seen it before and he looked at Clary, amazed by her skill. Clary, however, did not seem as impressed. The look on her face was like a stab to the heart, as if she had already failed. Everyone watched as the rune began to fade prematurely, vanishing into nothing but a faint scar. 

“Emmie…” Magnus’s voice was soft and fluttering like dry fall leaves. “Emmie…don’t leave me.” He cradled her head in his arms, holding it against the blood-stained silk of his shirt until her dark locks were soaked with it. Her jacket was torn open, the soft grey fabric shredded like tissue. The skin below was in no better shape. Red, bleeding flesh laced with burns of poison and venomous magic, and the silver lines of her veins barely pulsed now, merely flickers of life in the light of the dying flames. Only a few had even the chance to swell and heal, her arms a patchwork of ivory and silver. Every few inches of skin they were torn open and gushing, like veins truly did, and, with each pulse, a fraction of her life left. Immortal life, fading away. 

“Magnus.” Alec barely recognized his own voice. Magnus seemed to feel the same and looked up at Alec with confusion and disbelief, the crushing realization beginning to set in. 

“What...” the warlock’s voice broke and stuttered, his chin shaking, “W-what do I do?” Alec didn’t know what to tell him. The blood pooled beneath her like a pond and her hand lay limp beside her body, the useless rune fading to nothingness. All around, Shadowhunters and Downworlders looked on with a strange combination of surprise and…sadness, bloodied weapons and bloodied claws hanging weakly aside. A few blades had even fallen to the ground with a chorus of glittering, metallic cries, his own father’s _guisarme_ leaning head down into the stone as Emmeline bled out. 

Suddenly, the warlock’s feeble frame began to stir and Emmeline raised a shaking hand. Magnus’s face lit with joy and hope as he drew her near.

“Emmie!” His nose was inches from hers, the blood from her forehead smearing onto his caramel skin. “Emmie, it’s me. It’s _brother_.” Alec’s heart shattered at the word. He’d never heard Magnus say it before. Emmeline had, on multiple occasions, referred to Magnus as her bother, but the warlock himself had never uttered the word. He’d only ever referred to Emmeline as his sister, never himself as her brother, and it only made the moment worse, especially once Alec looked up to the gathered crowd. 

The race of Shadowhunters had long been an exclusionary and bigoted collection, something Alec had personally and painfully encountered with his own life. Even beyond the Circle, the entire Clave had long despised those who were nonhuman, including warlocks, although they felt no reservation about hiring them for a number of dangerous jobs when necessary. But now, as the High Warlock of Brooklyn cradled his Queens counterpart, as a Downworlder lay dying at their feet, her blood spilling in defense of their own, the face of every Shadowhunter was creased with shame and sorrow. 

“Emmeline?” Magnus’s strained voice shattered the reverent silence, his hands clutching at Emmeline’s face. “Emmeline, don’t do this!” he cried out, as if she had any say in the matter. “Don’t do this, not now. You’re not supposed to leave me. Come on, Emmeline. Stay with me!” His face twisted with agony as Emmeline sputtered dark blood, streams trickling out her mouth. Slowly, straining, the corners of her lips curled up, a faint smile pulling back to reveal blood stained teeth. With what seemed like the greatest effort she had ever given, Emmeline raised a shaking hand, blood stained finger tips brushing along Magnus’s temple. The warlock shuddered, but never moved from his fallen friend.

With the throbbing pain ravaging her body, the blood gushing down her ribs, the pool of life beneath her, Alec doubted she had even the strength to speak, but somehow she did. Emmeline smiled, a pained smile, but the most sincere and loving smile Alec had ever witnessed. She rubbed the pad of her thumb along the creases of Magnus’s eye corner, tears welling in both her eyes and his. 

“Eyeliner,” she mumbled as the tears began to fall. Magnus’s or hers, Alec didn’t know. He only knew that his own joined the flood of sorrow now flowing from dozens of weeping eyes, Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike. 

Emmeline Stark, High Warlock of Queens, legendary Light-Seer, the kindest girl he’d ever met. 

Was gone. 

Her hand lay lifeless in the red-soaked dirt, the rune no more than a faded memory as Magnus searched her face for some glimmer of life, of hope. His face was soon twisted with desperation.

“Emmie?” he clutched her face in his hand. “Emmie! No! No! Don’t do this. Don’t leave me!” Magnus wrapped his arms around her, bringing her unsupported head next to his. His eyes slammed shut, his entire face twisted and warped. Alec could hear his muffled voice, a repetition seeping into the night. 

“No, no, no…” 

Suddenly, Magnus’s body tensed and stiffened, his painted fingernails digging into Emmeline’s shredded sleeves. He threw his head back, mouth stretched open to a gaping howl as a heart wrenching wail ripped from his chest. Waves of blue energy rippled through the crowds, sending coats and cloaks whipping back, sparks flying into the sky and suddenly dying as Magnus’s head fell forward, his back shaking with sobs. 

Alec felt completely useless, as useless as Clary’s failed rune. She was gone. Emmeline was gone and nothing could bring her back. His arms and legs felt numb as he dragged himself through the mud, inching closer to Magnus’s shivering frame. He reached out, fingers brushing the smooth skin of Emmeline’s hand and feeling the lack of warmth, seeing with his own eyes the stillness of her silver lines. No pulse, no surge. Nothing. Those that had attempted to spread to her wounds lay still. Alec’s fingers tightened around hers and he reached out to clasp Magnus’s head, pulling it forward so their foreheads met. Now, he could feel the crumbling shake of each sob as Magnus cradled his sister’s body. Perhaps he could share the weight. He closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Emmeline’s lifeless face.

Suddenly, a faint glow tickled at the edges of his blackened vision. It grew stronger, brighter, until he could no longer ignore it. Eyes fluttering open, Alec was met with a soft light that radiated from all sides. He turned his head and the breath caught in his throat.

All around was the familiar glow of witchlights, blue and green and yellow. A myriad of colors filled the night sky as every Shadowhunter pulled forth their stone and allowed the light to surround the warlock. The Downworlders had knelt to the ground, bowing their heads in solemn recognition. Alec had never seen anything like it, and still he didn’t care. Tears rolled down his face and splashed onto Emmeline’s blood drenched shirt. 

Never again would they share steaming coffee as Magnus snored on the couch. Never again would they laugh and howl into the night, half-drunk bottles of _Kalyani_ in hand. Never again would she force him into trying yet another spoonful of _sauerbraten_. Never again would he assure her that the lines on her neck were beautiful. Never again would she tell him how gorgeous his face was, to be proud of his pale skin and blue eyes. Never again would she defend him to whatever homophobic ass came their way. 

Alec was sobbing now, too. He couldn’t help it. He and Magnus hunched over Emmeline’s still frame like the peak of the Institute’s cathedral. He didn’t care what the Shadowhunters thought, or what the Downworlders thought. Emmeline was gone. 

He could hear their words now, the regulated, trained words etched into every Shadowhunter’s mind, echoing around off the crumbling buildings like a spoken song.

_Requiem aeternam dona ei,_  
_Domine,_  
_et lux perpetua luceat ei._  
_Requiescant in saecula saeculorum._

 

~*~

 

It had never before been done in the history of the Shadowhunter world. A non-Nephilim funeral in the capitol city, the City of Glass, Alicante. After the battle – after Emmeline’s death – her body, along with hundreds of Shadowhunter bodies, had been transported to Idris for a mass funeral to honor the glorious dead. The echoing expanse of the Accords Hall and the surrounding corridors would be filled with lifeless bodies for days leading up to the funeral, each Shadowhunter laid gently on an elevated, plush bed, the floor around them laden with flowers and tokens and gifts. Clary had told Alec that it reminded her of a wake, something mundanes did before their own funeral proceedings. He could see the similarities, particularly how guards were set at each end of the limitless corridors and at the entrance to the Accords Hall to watch over their fallen brethren.

Alec, along with his parents and Isabelle and Jace, had gone to the Accords Hall already to pay their respects to the fallen Nephilim, leaving their own gifts for their stolen friends and family. He had come home that day to find Magnus sitting silent in the drawing room, a cold cup of jasmine tea in his jaunt hands as he stared out the open window. 

“She was my baby sister,” Magnus had whispered, gold eyes washed to pale yellow. His face held none of its usual energy, his eyes rimmed with redness and not glitter. “Immortal or not, that’s now how it’s supposed to end.” His fists tightened around the silk of his pant legs, “The old should never bury the young.” 

Three days they’d been in Idris and still they’d only gone to see Emmeline once. It had been a family affair, the Lightwoods and Jace, Clary and her mother, Luke, and a host of other Shadowhunters and Downworlders with quite possibly the largest gathering of warlocks in existence. They’d all walked stone-faced to the Accords Hall to see her.

Emmeline had the highest honor of all the dead, her body placed in reverent isolation at the center of the Accords Hall. All around were gifts and tokens, blessings and reminders. Flowers, weapons, books, jewels, feathers, and photographs. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting not only the legends of the Nephilim, as was customary of the Hall, but renderings of Warlock history. There was Lilith herself gathering her children to her arms, circles of warlocks casting magic and setting the heavens ablaze with brilliant light, Light-Seers sharing the wisdom of the world with a host of Nephilim. Magnus had barely stepped one foot inside the Hall when he’d vanished from sight, Alec catching only a flash of a red-trimmed ivory coat as he disappeared out the front doors. 

Alec could understand, probably better than most. He’d barely caught a glimpse of Emmeline’s unnaturally still form before his eyes had begun to burn with tears. Isabelle had been kind enough to escort him out, but only after he’d received bows of recognition from the crowd of warlocks gathered around her body. 

He looked down at the white fabric wrapped loosely around his limbs. He hated it, hated the meaning behind it. Tragedy. Sorrow. _For death and mourning the color’s white_. It echoed through his head whenever he caught sight of his reflection in a mirrored surface. The white fabric only made his black hair stand out more, the bruises on his skin like screaming sores and the dark circles of his eyes like the empty sockets of a skull. 

Her funeral, which would be preceded by dozens of other Nephilim funerals, would be tomorrow night, the fourth night of their stay in Alicante, and already the city was prepping for the grand affair. White banners and flags were hung throughout the city streets, the houses of mourning families sporting white drapes over their windows and doors. Not in line with typical Shadowhunter funerals, there were touches of red splashed throughout. Magnus had explained that it was the color of mourning for warlocks, although most of their funerals were filled with a myriad of colors, as was expected for the vibrant culture. Alec thought it quite fitting. _Red to call enchantment down_. 

As much as he enjoyed being back in his family house, what should have felt welcoming and familiar only felt stifling and cold. The light that shone through the windows was bleak and colorless, an effect of the white banners hung outside. Even the house itself seemed void of color, as if the life had been drained from everything. All day he’d spend inside, listening to the idle chatter and arguments of Jace, Isabelle, Clary, and Simon. Magnus had gone to visit friends in the city, so he lacked even a kindred spirit with whom to sulk. Flying from his chair, Alec made for the front door.

“Hey!” Izzy called out, her dark eyes laced with confusion and barely-concealed pity. He didn’t want her pity. “Where are you headed?” 

“Out,” he mumbled half-heartedly as he twisted the doorknob. Isabelle sprang from her seat on the elegant chaise. 

“Hold up, I’ll go with you.” 

“No,” he cut her off before she could reach the door. Immediately he regretted the harshness to his tone as Izzy’s face fell. He placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. “I just need some air. Clear my head and all.” She seemed momentarily convinced, but insisted that he call if he needed anything. 

“Don’t stay out too late!” she yelled out the front door as Alec made his way through the tiny front lawn and onto the street. He gave a mindless wave as he set down the twilight street. 

White. White everywhere. Alec dropped his gaze to the cobblestone street in an attempt to bar it from his sight. It was a fair idea; now he could focus on the rhythmic, relaxing pattern of his scuffed boots coming in and out of vision. He knew there were people out. He could hear their voices and see the edges of their cloaks and boots, but Alec made a point of avoiding their gazes. Most everyone in the capitol had learned of his relation to the dead warlock and he’d become something of a morbid celebrity. All the Lightwoods had, but he had no desire for their consolation or pitiful glances tonight. He wanted only the cool night air. 

He barely noticed as the street beneath his feet slanted upward and he began trudging up a slight hill. He only realized his position within the capitol city when his boots collided with heavy stone steps. Alec looked up, the stiffness of his hung head creaking in his ears, to see the Accords Hall looming before him. Thick columns supported a massive domed roof and images of angels and runes were carved into every square inch. On each side of the great front doors were three story bolts of white fabric, their lengths billowing in the brisk wind and shimmering gold embroidery decorating their hems. 

His stomach lurched and Alec took two stumbling steps back. What cruel twist of fate had brought him here? Was he really so self-punishing? Perhaps he subconsciously believed he deserved to suffer and his treacherous feet had delivered him here out of spite. He did not doubt it. Suddenly, his skin grew cold and his palms tacky. His heart pounded in his chest, the combined echo of his breath in his ears threatening faintness. He was about to turn back, flee down whatever street or back alleyway he could find, when he froze on the cobblestones. He glanced down at the _Strength_ rune on his wrist, the one Emmeline had glamoured as a bow and arrow that day in the Upper East Side. She had inspired him to true fearlessness, a fearlessness he’d thought forever gone. He clenched his fist. For her, he could do this.

Massive columns looming over him, the faces of angels and beasts staring him down, Alec turned back around and ran up the front steps of the Accords Hall. 

Inside, it was eerily silent. Softly flickering candles lit the corridor and lined the massive marble staircase. They filled the white marble with a fiery glow, streaks of gold and shadow flashing in the darkness. Alec stuffed his hands into his pockets, a cool shiver running down his spine as he stalked down the empty hall. Even with a conscious effort, each step he took echoed through the great expanse of the Hall and bounced back to meet him, bringing with a renewed sense of loneliness. He wished Magnus was with him. Perhaps he could have talked some sense into Alec, made him turn back home and then filled his head with mindless dreams to send him off to a somewhat restful sleep. He could still turn back, but something in his body prevented him, as if his very bones moved on their own and urged him forward.

At last he came to the end of the staircase and stood at the doors to the Accords Hall. As was tradition, the great white doors were left open, but only enough to allow a single person through. Tomorrow they would be flung open wide enough for the flood of people who would come to mourn. For now, Alec steadied his breath. Through the crack of the door he could see the faint glow of thousands of candles and the outline of a single platform, the top disrupted by soft curved lines. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat and again he considered turning heel and sprinting out the doors. He would roll down the stairs if he had to. Instead, the muscles in his legs tensed and his boots carried him through the gap of the doors. 

He had never truly become accustomed to the grandeur of the Accords Hall, and standing alone in the legendary space only emphasized its legacy. The ceiling reached far above, at least six stories, and ended in an enormous crystal dome through which could be seen the swirling universes and endless stars. Their white light shone down in a myriad of rainbow colors, but they were quickly swallowed by the glow of thousands of candles. Long, slender white candles lined the room, dozens of rows thick, and surrounded the platform at the center. It was a warm glow, soft and welcoming, and it made Alec’s shoulders relax a bit. As he slowly made his way to the center of the room, the beautiful fountain depicting an ethereal mermaid glowed in the darkness like living stone. It was in front of this fountain, with its gentle waters reflecting glittering light, that Emmeline was laying.

When he had first come to see her and had been surrounded by crowds of other mourners, Alec had barely the strength to look in her direction. In fact, he hadn’t. His eyes had never risen beyond the few steps that led to her marble bed. One glimpse of her motionless hand and Alec had turned away, tears stinging his eyes. Even now they burned behind his lids, but Alec ignored them. He could not be so cowardly a second time. Emmeline had died saving them. 

He could do this for her. 

He placed his first boot on the marble step, then the next, and finally the third until he stood at her side. Still, his eyes remained glued to his boots, his breath raging in his ears and his heart burning in his chest. He could see her arm out of the corner of his eye – still, pale. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides he feared he would soon break the skin of his palms, but Alec stood firm. Slowly, he raised his eyes.

He knew the funeral traditions of the Nephilim. The hundreds of Shadowhunter bodies in the surrounding corridors were presented in the proper fashion: eyes bound with a length of white silk, right hand over their heart with a seraph blade clasped in their fingers. One after another were laid as such, like perfect marble statues. Obedient soldiers even in death. One day Alec would join them, as would his parents, Isabelle, Jace, and Clary, their bodies burned and set to ash. 

For Emmeline, though, it was different. 

Her eyes were bound, but not with white. A sheer length of vibrant red shielded her motionless eyes from the world, mirroring the crimson of her burial gown, the edges trimmed with white and gold. It was a simple gown, the kind that Alec was sure would have garnered her approval, particularly the fact that her feet were bare. Even more so were the delicate gold lines that ran along her own silver Marks, a signature that screamed of Magnus. Despite the tears streaming down his face, Alec let out a strained laugh. Even if he could not look at her, Magnus had made sure she was properly honored. One of his gold bangles, the ones he’d worn in Istanbul, adorned her slender wrist. 

She was as Alec had always and would always remember her, all chocolate locks and smooth lines. He could see the smile of her lips, how her teeth flashed like pearls when she laughed; the elegance of her long fingers, the way she flexed them when she cast her magic; the smoothness of her feet and how they lifted her through the air when she danced. The silver of her Marks glittered in the candlelight, momentarily fooling him into thinking that they pulsed with life, but it would never be. Never again would they swell and heal the wounds of her flesh with beautiful healing magic. Alec’s heart tore in his chest and his head dropped forward, thick tears dropping to stain the marble floor.

He couldn’t help it. The sobs wracked his body and echoed through the hall to the crystal dome above. His fingers dug into the cold marble of her bed as he doubled over for support. Emmeline was gone and she had died fighting for them, for him, for his family. She had no tie to the Shadowhunter world, to its wars and politics, its disgusting racism and elitism, and still she’d thrown herself into the front lines and faced the darkest of demons in existence. For _Shadowhunters_ , for the Nephilim who for centuries had hated and despised her kind. She didn’t have to die. She didn’t deserve to die, not for this. Not for a cause that was not her own.

No. 

“This Armageddon comes for us all,” she had said as Isabelle had wrapped her wounds only days before the final battle. “If we do not stand together, none will survive.” 

She had not. She had paid the ultimate price and Alec would never forgive himself. It should have been him. This was his war, his people, an enemy born of their careless actions. In the end, they had not even been able to save her. What healing powers they had were pointless for a warlock, a result of their close-minded existence. If only they had found some way to make runes more applicable to non-Nephilim, if only they had moved beyond their own selfish existence, perhaps Emmeline would still be alive. Even Clary’s incredible gifts had proved worthless, her unique rune vanished from Emmeline’s pale skin like a memory of a dream. 

He could see the intense glow it had given off as Clary had carved it into Emmeline’s flesh, smell the sizzle as stele burned skin like paper. It was all so real, so fresh in his mind that for a fleeting moment Alec swore he could smell the burn, even see the light through his slammed eyelids. But it was not so fleeting. 

Something tickled at his senses, an energy that had not been there before. It was more than candlelight, more than the starlight that trickled in from above. It grew and grew until Alec could ignore it no longer. He peeled is eyes open and glanced up through his shaking arms. 

A pale green glow flickered across the plains of Emmeline’s blinded face, her jaw and cheekbones sharp in light and shadow. It danced over the curves of her body, glimmering off her silver Marks and the gold that lined them. Slowly, Alec righted himself, his joints stiff and creaking as the green light flashed in his blue eyes. It was growing brighter with each passing second and Alec’s eyes darted over her body in dazed confusion. Finally, they landed on the source. 

Beams of green light pierced the darkness like emerald spears, reaching out like the points of a glorious star from underneath her smooth arm. The source was hidden, but Alec knew – without a doubt – from where the light was coming. 

Suddenly, a rippling pulse of green light flew out from her form and washed over the Hall. It filled the ivory walls and rose high above to the crystal dome, shining through the night sky outside and rivaling the stars. Alec threw his arms over his face, shielding his eyes from the blinding light as it grew and grew until the room was bright as a shining sun. He slipped back on the stairs and fell from the platform, his tailbone connecting with the marble floor as he slammed his eyes shut. With one final pulse, the green light exploded and radiated from the Hall, undoubtedly filling all of Alicante with its brightness. As quickly as it had come, it vanished, plunging the Hall into dimly lit shadows. 

Alec’s eyes fluttered open hesitantly, adjusting to the sudden darkness with relative easy. Surprisingly, every candle was still flickering confidently and casting a warm glow on the white marble hall, even the ones that surrounded Emmeline’s raised bed. Alec cautiously made his way back to her side, staring at her forearm. It was no longer shadowed by the flicker of candlelight, but lit from below by a faint green light that faded with each passing second. Alec reached out and touched her arm.

His hand snapped back. The skin was no longer ice cold, but temperate, and he watched in unbelieving shock as the silver Marks released a faint, resonate, beautiful pulse. He wrapped a hand around her arm and flipped it over, his eyes swelling. He was unable to move, his body frozen beside her. Filled with a surge of incredible life, Alec flew from the Accords Hall and down the great marble staircase, his mouth hanging open and breath gasping in and out. His eyes were glued on the massive front doors that grew closer with each frantic step. He began jumping them three at a time until he was throwing himself through the front doors. 

Frigid night air slapped him like a wave, rattling his senses even further. The city was quiet and still, the characteristic glow of witchlight streetlamps illuminating the roads. With each desperate breath, Alec’s chest heaved and his awareness returned. 

“MAGNUS!” 

His voice tore through the city, echoing against every pillar, building, and demon tower. It reverberated off the rivers and bridges, tearing through every wall and door, until the city was alive with action. Lights flashed on, towers were lit, people stumbled out their front doors as voices echoed from street to street. Those who lived close enough to the Accords Hall looked up at the strange, lone Shadowhunter boy on the steps with confusion and no small amount of displeasure, but this fled when they saw the look on his face. Alarms were sounded, messengers sent throughout the city to seek out the council members and elders and representatives. Suddenly, Helen Blackthorn appeared on the steps of the Hall in front of him. 

“Alec!” her voice plucked him from his temporary daze and he realized he’d been breathing very heavily. Helen watched him with frantic concern. “Alec, what happened? I saw the light from the Hall. What’s wrong?” Her blonde hair was tousled and tied hastily to the side, her oversized shirt hanging haphazardly from her shoulders and a plush housecoat wrapped around her. He barely noticed that her hair was slightly damp. “ALEC!” she yelled at him, green eyes swelling, and Alec desperately sucked down breath.

“Where’s Magnus?” he stuttered out, his voice broken and shaking. Helen shook her head in confusion. 

“I-I’m not sure,” she glanced around. “It’s late Alec. He could be back at your place or out with the other warlocks. I’m not – Will you just tell me what’s going on? What are you doing out here?” 

Alec dropped his head and rested his hands against his knees, the outline of his back heaving with each breath. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Even as he replayed it over in his head, even as he tried to formulate it into a coherent phrase, he knew it was impossible. It couldn’t possibly be true. He must have hallucinated, dreamed it in his sorrowful state. People were known to invent all kinds of crazy things when dealing with tragedy. 

No. He’d felt it. He’d seen it. It was true. Truer than anything he’d ever known. Something incredible had happened. He forced himself to stand and look Helen in the eyes, her confusion only having increased in his absence.

“Get everybody you can,” he told her, “whoever will help. Find my parents and Isabelle. Get Jace and Clary and her mom. Find Luke and his pack. Contact every representative. We need healers, medics, any Downworlder with healing abilities. Find Clary first. Get her here as quickly as you can.” Alec took a breath and stared up at the sky. Somewhere he could still see remnants of green light. “And find Magnus. We need to find him.” 

“Okay,” she whispered, staring at him as if he’d sprouted angel wings. “Okay. I’ll find them.” She flew down the front steps and into the streets, hollering and shouting at people as she went. Aline Penhallow and her mother Jia appeared next to her, seraph blades in hand. She directed them back to their house and continued shouting orders until Alec could no longer see her. 

Helen would gather their numbers, he had no doubt, but if Magnus didn’t want to be found he could elude even God. Alec reached into his waistband and pulled out his stele. Clenching it in his teeth, he wrapped his hands around the hem of his white shirt and ripped free a scrap of fabric. Holding it taunt against his thigh, Alec gripped his stele and began to carve into the white silk. When he was finished he bundled the fabric into a ball and set it ablaze with his stele, tossing it into the night sky in a cloud of ash and smoke. If there was any justice left in the world, it would not go unnoticed. 

Alec stayed on the front steps of the Accords Hall for what seemed like hours, watching the night sky with dedicated resilience, as Shadowhunters and Downworlders flew past him in the Hall. Clary was the first to arrive, Helen in tow, and the two girls dashed up the front steps with a handful of other Nephilim. She had tried to bring him inside, but Alec had silently refused, asking only how long it had been.

“Just about twenty minutes,” Clary responded, waving at Helen and the others to continue on without her. “What are you waiting for, Alec?”

“I have to stay,” was all he would say, but Clary was persistent. 

“Alec, I need you,” she said, hand wrapped around his bicep. “You were here. You saw what happened. I’m going to need your help. Please, Alec.” Her fingers tightened, “She needs you.” He continued to stare at the sky and the spot were the last wisp of smoke had vanished, hoping that someone had seen, but Clary’s words pierced his numbness and he allowed her to guide him back up the great stone steps. 

Inside the Accords Hall might have been a completely different room. Eerie, reverent silence was replaced with manic chaos as Shadowhunters and Downworlders dashed back and forth. Some held weapons, others bottles of colored liquid and bandages, and even others had buckets of water. He could see members of the Council, Downworlder representatives, and a handful of Luke’s pack. They all cleared the way as Clary and Alec raced through the crowds and up the marble staircase. The massive doors of the Accords Hall were thrown open, warm candlelight spilling down the pearly stairs as Alec and Clary came to the final step. Voices poured out from the great domed room and Alec could hear his parent’s voices like beacons in the dark. They turned to face him as soon as he entered.

“Alec,” his mother’s voice had half its normal confidence and shook with an uncertainty that seemed unusual for the normally strong woman. Even her eyes shown grey and washed as she stood next to his father, both dressed in hastily thrown on clothing. A crowd of his own swarmed around Emmeline’s bed blocking her from sight, but he caught a glimpse of her bare feet. They remained unnaturally still. Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps this was all for nothing. 

“The Council Representatives are coming,” his father told him, whispering orders to those around him. It seemed Robert was trying his best to keep the Accords Hall somewhat respectfully quiet despite the chaos ensuing. “Tomas Rosales and Nasreen Chaudhury should be here first. They’ve the best experience with runes and healing. And we’ve sent word to every warlock in the city. They should be here within the hour.” 

“Lucian has his pack scanning the streets block by block,” Jia Penhallow came forward, her pale face paler than snow. “They’re seeking out everyone of use. I don’t doubt that word will have spread across all of Idris by morning.”

“Hopefully we’ll have an answer by then,” Josiane Pontmercy came around the end of Emmeline’s bed, laying a gentle hand on her bare ankle and rubbing gently at the delicate skin. Alec watched the silver lines of her Marks with possessed obsession. As if sensing his seniority, they all made way for Clary and Alec as they approached the platform. At first, Clary seemed unsure of what to do. Her hands hung purposeless at her sides, but in a sudden surge of assurance she approached Emmeline’s side and began to examine her Marks. Carefully, she wrapped her hands around Emmeline’s right arm and flipped it over. Her eyes swelled, filled with a faint green glow. 

One by one, everyone turned to gaze at the light shining from beneath Emmeline’s arm. Even his parents were rendered speechless. At some point Isabelle had arrived with Jace and Aline, and all three stood slack-jawed behind him. Alec took the last few steps forward until he stood behind Clary, the light shining out from behind her red hair like a flaming halo. He peered around her shoulders to gaze at Emmeline’s body, but it was Isabelle who finally spoke.

“ _Green will mend our broken hearts_.” 

Alec’s heart skipped as a tiny surge rippled through Emmeline’s silver Marks. 

“That’s not possible,” Jia whispered. 

Suddenly, the doors of the Hall slammed against the walls, stone on stone sending a reverberating crash through the echoing space. The red and white banners that hung on the walls fluttered like tissue and hundreds of candles threatened to douse. Even before he’d regained his footing, Alec recognized the sensation. He turned to see Magnus looming in the doorway, arms outstretched, blue sparks leaping at his fingertips, and the massive marble doors spiderwebbed with giant cracks.

The high warlock flew through the sparse crowds, turning them aside if they did not clear his path at once, and even those Shadowhunters gathered by the platform moved away to offer him clear access to Emmeline. All except Clary, who stood at Emmeline’s side and was soon joined by Magnus. He barely gave Alec a passing glance, but Alec could feel his panic. The two stood at the marble pyre, Clary’s hands delicately wrapped around the glowing _Salvation_ rune like a frame. With each pulse of her silver veins the rune glowed and Magnus’s eyes swelled. 

As soon as her brother touched her skin, Emmeline’s chest heaved. 

The action was so quick and fleeting that Alec half doubted it had happened. Her body lay so still on the marble slab, but there was ever the slightest rise and fall to her chest. Though her lids remained closed, he could see the faint darting of her eyes behind them. Emmeline was not dead.

“ _Tiga hari_ ,” Magnus muttered, one hand on her face and the other touching the rune.

“Three days,” Maryse whispered, her voice shaking. “ _Three days to sleep and then to rise_.” 

Alec knew the passage and what it meant. He could see it coming to life before him. The Nephilim had tomes of history, page after page of legend and myth and prophecy, endless lines of preaching and teaching, but none could have ever fathomed that one such story would be brought to fruition by a daughter of Lilith. All around Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike looked on with unbelieving fascination as Emmeline’s chest rose and fell with the breath of life, her silver Marks sparkling with light. The rune on her arm was fading, not to invisible nothingness, but to match the metallic glimmer of her own veins. 

Magnus and Clary stayed at her side through the night, Nephilim and warlocks running back and forth with supplies and orders barked equally from both expert healers. Alec stayed with him though he did not ask it. He did not need to. Alec knew his place. Every few minutes Magnus’s hand would reach back and clutch his, gripping it tight with triumph and terror. He was there and he always would be. As if either of them would ever leave Emmeline’s side, not when she needed them most. 

Seven hours past until the morning sun rose, and Emmeline with it. It was as Josiane had said. By morning, all of Idris had heard of Emmeline’s revival and with it came an upheaval not seen in Idris’s history. Some Nephilim claimed demonic magic, even calling for Clary to be stripped of her runes. Others claimed divine influence, that the angel Raziel himself had placed the Salvation rune in Clary’s head and hand, that she should be praised not punished. Warlock representatives petitioned for Emmeline’s release and it was granted, the Council announcing that they themselves had no true control over the matters of the children of Lilith. It was a remarkable measure, a sign of true accordance. Magnus himself was requested as Emmeline’s voice during her recovery, along with Alec and the other New Yorkers, but the High Warlock of Brooklyn held the real power. Alec would have had it no other way; he was her brother. 

In the end, they were not sure what brought Emmeline back, be it rune or angel or Lilith’s healing magic, but from that third day in Alicante, the rune became one with her silver Marks and all the world would know that a warlock bore the mark of Raziel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few readers ask about the Salvation rune that Clary uses to revive Emmeline in Chapter Five. Specifically, if I had an idea of how I imagined it looking. 
> 
> Voila! Follow the link to see the Salvation rune that now adorns Emmeline's inner arm. It's actually a play off of the combined Japanese kanji for "save".
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4f/ca/47/4fca473a8efb591b57bbfdb8f5809029.jpg
> 
> .........................................................................................................................................................................................
> 
> Update: Readers have also requested an image of Emmeline's burial dress that she wears in Alicante. Ask and you shall receive.
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f1/58/16/f158164754280af7c4dd721ecf85edb4.jpg


	11. Check Out My New Book - The Elements: Descension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT MY ORIGINAL WRITING
> 
> I know we're all fans of fantastic fanfiction. I definitely am, but hey! If you like my fanfiction, why not check out my original writing? There's a lot more of it. Follow the link below to check out my book. Feel free to leave notes, critiques, or comments. And spread the word! Tell your friends, your coworkers, your classmates, your family, that guy at the gym, the barista down the street, and anyone else who will listen. Share this post or the link below on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr.
> 
> Read the first installment of The Elements Trilogy in its entirety at https://www.inkshares.com/projects/the-elements-descension.
> 
> Below is just a taste...

_“What do you know about war?” he imparted. “Have you ever been on the front lines, princess? Have you ever cut open a roga and watched it writhe and burn in the sun, had its stinking guts spew all over you?”_

_Her knuckles met his chest with a resounding crack and Aedyn felt the air rush from his lungs. The neck of his tunic was clenched in her fist as she pulled him forward, forcing him to meet her face to face._

_“What do I know?” she snarled, her eyes fading to darkness, lightning crackling inside them. A shiver raced down his spine. “I hear that Highan is so proud of its five princes,” she hissed, her grip tightening around his neck, “Its five glorious princes, its five blessed princes, but not five thousand princes could save you from the terror my people have seen beyond the horizon.” He watched as her eyes sparked, that same charge surging through the air around them and making the leaves to stand stiff and quiver. “It is a holocaust so terrifying, so horrific, that your people will gouge out their ears to keep from hearing their own screams.”_

_The trees grew silent and even the birds refused to break the void. His hand was wrapped around her wrist now, tightening with each passing moment, and he felt as the icy cold crept down her fingers into his palm. It stung with an unnatural burning and made him want to run to the nearest hearth and throw himself into the flames._

_Embers inside his chest swelled into being, erupting into his lungs and throat and setting his bones on fire. Concentrating the heat in his palm, Aedyn relished as his fist began to glow a familiar orange. Aleaneo immediately recoiled, releasing his neck and snatching her wrist from his grasp, staring in horror at the red burns dissipating on her skin._

_Just as before, Aleaneo disappeared into the woods, but this time Aedyn lost her completely. He hadn’t even seen her turn to leave. It was as if she had simply melted into the air._


End file.
